


The Orchid and the Dragon

by nihilleaf



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Arranged Marriage, BAMF Newt Scamander, BAMF Original Percival Graves, Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Explicit Sexual Content, Grumpy Graves, Hurt/Comfort, I watched too much game of thrones, M/M, Newt is attracted to danger, Pining, Romance, Shapeshifter!Graves, Slow Burn, but it gets better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13303386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilleaf/pseuds/nihilleaf
Summary: Newt is betrothed to King Percival Graves, also known as the Black Dragon of the Northern Realm. Their union strengthens the bond between their kingdoms, but Newt quickly finds himself at odds with a man who doesn't seem to reciprocate the growing feelings the young prince starts to harbour for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of continuing my other fic, I'm starting another one. *sweats*  
> This idea popped into my head while I was listening to [Wardruna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6loWrABr8gA), and it has quickly morphed into a plot. I just had to write it, otherwise I'd get frustrated. :') Anyway, I hope you like it.

When Newt first heard that he was going to be wed to the king of the Northern Lands, he was torn between being bewildered and impressed.

Never did he imagine that soon the day would come in which he would be betrothed. Betrothed to a king.

He would marry the king of the Northern Realm. Percival Graves, also known as the black dragon of Dracanoye.

Newt had heard many stories about the reign of Percival Graves. Most of them, he had learned during his lessons about the history and politics of the various kingdoms scattered around the continent. And he remembered being very intrigued and curious by the exploits of this man he had never seen. Despite the fact that some tales seemed to him a bit far-fetched and unlikely to have happened, he quickly became enthralled nonetheless, his inner adventurous side finding itself dreaming about snowy mountains and infinite plains, flying above them like a dragon. Free and fearless.

The tales he liked to listen to the most were those told by his older brother Theseus, who had led many battles in his life and had apparently interacted with Percival Graves on a regular basis during his rule.

Newt was eighteen when he first heard about the dragon of Dracanoye. He remembered the rapid thumping of his heart when he listened with rapt attention to Theseus’ words, clutching with delicate fingers his brother’s arm as they sat in one of the blooming gardens of their holiday estate. 

It had been a sunny day, a warm and bright light trickling through the leaves of the surrounding mandarin trees and casting golden specks on the two men sitting on a bench near the fountain. It was the beginning of spring, Newt’s favorite season, because it was often during that period that Theseus managed to get a little free time from his duties as the king of the Southern Kingdom, and could spend his due rest with his little brother in his favorite estate, whenever his wife was preoccupied with her own obligations.

It was a soothing habit of Newt to coax his brother into resting his head on his lap and card freckled fingers through Theseus’ smooth hair, basking in the sight of Theseus relaxing under his touch, the tension slowly draining from his exhausted form.

And today was no exception. Theseus was lying beside Newt, his head resting on his little brother’s lap as he talked about his “old friend, Percival”, as he liked to call him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure to get acquainted with such a fierce and powerful man. A man who knows how to rule a country; with a firm hand, yet caring for the wellbeing of his people,” he said as he leaned his head into Newt’s hand, tired green eyes fluttering shut under the soft caress. “At first I thought it was just a farce when I first heard that Percival had _the gift of the dragon_. But oh boy, you must’ve seen my face when I saw with my own two eyes what this man was capable of.”

“What is it, the gift of the dragon?” Newt asked, unable to hide the curiosity in his tone as he waited with a sense of giddiness for Theseus to continue.

Theseus smiled at his brother’s inquiry and let out a sigh, seeming to recall a particularly memorable event.

“It is said that every century, or five hundred years, a person is born among the royal family of Dracanoye with the ability to transform into a dragon. You’re aware by now that the land of Dracanoye is known for its people’s close affinity with those majestic creatures, hence the dragon symbol on their flag.”

Newt nodded, clearly recalling his history lessons.

“Yes, most of Dracanoye’s inhabitants know how to communicate with them. Dragons are untamable and proud, but they form close friendships with the people and also go with them into battle whenever their land is in danger. They forge an unbreakable bond and together they’re skilled strategists. That is why Dracanoye is known for its many glorious victories in past wars.”

“Correct,” Theseus nodded his approval and pinched Newt playfully in the side as the younger man blushed at the praise. “Ancient stories tell that there was a dragon who offered the first ruler of Dracanoye a sacred gift which permitted them to gain dragon-form anytime they saw fit. This ability has been passed on in the royal family until now. But since it only happens every century, and with luck, not many people have the privilege to witness a person transforming into a fullgrown dragon.”

“And-- King Graves has this gift?”

“Oh, yes.” Theseus’ eyes mirrored the apparent awe in Newt’s eyes, and his voice became a low murmur as he added, “I saw Percival in action during a battle we were both fighting against the land of Vargskir, his dragon-form slicing the wind like lightning, scales glinting like black onyx under the sun. Sometimes I even think that he has dragon blood inside him. Because even when he’s in his normal human form, his eyes have this ageless and cunning spark that you can only see in a dragon’s eye.”

Newt’s breath caught in his throat at Theseus’ uttered words, his mind already filled with images of a faceless yet powerful and wise man doing extraordinary deeds with his unique ability. The young prince could only imagine how freeing it must feel to fly at unknown places all by himself with the wind rushing beneath his outstretched wings, feel the rush of adrenaline while diving headfirst like an arrow into a raging battle. See the world through dragon eyes…

He wanted to meet that man. He wanted to know how it was to be gifted with such a treat. 

Newt had always been drawn to a life filled with adventures and travels, and Theseus permitted him to visit the peripheral kingdoms whenever Newt’s longing for expeditions became too strong to ignore. Though, he was always accompanied by his royal escort, much to Newt’s dismay. The young prince understood that Theseus was protective of him and didn’t want him to be subject to enemies’ attacks. The risk to be ambushed by bandits was often very high, especially for members of royalty. But that didn’t diminish the unyielding flames of Newt’s drive to discover new and foreign lands on his own. 

He felt that the people of the Northern Kingdom were as drawn to liberty as him, given that their symbol was a dragon, a creature meant to be independent and wild. And now, with the current knowledge he had about the king of Dracanoye, Newt couldn’t help but become all the more intrigued and attracted to this land of lengthy winters and ancient magic.

The young prince of the Southern Kingdom rapidly found himself rummaging in the royal library, searching for more stories about the Northern Kingdom, sucking up each discovered parchment with thirst for new knowledge like a sponge. If Theseus was surprised by Newt’s new hobby, he didn’t let it show. 

With amusement glinting in his eyes, Theseus answered patiently to every question Newt directed at him, not missing on an opportunity to recount his exploits and memorable moments he fought alongside the great Percival Graves.

 

Newt was twenty-two when the heartbreaking news came.

The king of Dracanoye had lost his wife and two children during a vicious and unexpected ambush led by the clan leader of the Feronn islands Grindelwald, a tyrannical man who was known and feared for his ruthlessness and greed for unlimited power. Every kingdom of the continent was aware that Grindelwald had always been after king Graves’ lands. Dracanoye possessed countless dragon dens filled with the brightest and purest gems, and there was no equal to their immense value and magical features. This fact alone was often source of wars caused by opportunistic men who were foolish enough to pique the wrath of a territorial dragon.

Grindelwald had proved to be the most tenacious and avid man who tried to invade Dracanoye. And to Newt’s utter shock and sorrow, Grindelwald had managed to weaken Graves’ solid pillars by ripping out of his grasp his dearest gems that were his wife and children.

Newt hadn’t even met the man. He didn’t know what he looked like. But the sadness that filled his chest and threatened to constrict his heart in a vice grip made him weep silently into the cushion of his bed, as soon as he was sure that he was alone in his chambers with no one listening. 

The prince couldn’t explain to himself why he was so affected by Graves’ loss. But soon he realized that during the years he had spent reading about Dracanoye and its king, a timid sense of affection for the black dragon had started to bloom in his chest, a tiny thing which had grown bigger and bigger the more time passed, making his heart flutter in a strange way whenever he heard someone mention the king’s name.

He couldn’t deny that he felt connected to the people of Dracanoye; and knowing that they were in grief and suffering, invaded Newt with a sadness he hadn’t felt before.

What hurt the most was to see Theseus trying to mask the pain in his expressive eyes behind a strained smile, his strong shoulders slumping under the weight of his inner grief when he thought that no one was looking at him. He refused categorically Newt’s plea to come with him when he decided to visit king Graves, telling in a soft yet serious tone that tolerated no rebuttal that Newt definitely wasn’t ready to witness the current state Percival was in.

“Trust me, you don’t want to see him like this,” Theseus insisted apologetically, and upon seeing the apparent weariness in his brother’s eyes, Newt shut his mouth and reluctantly accepted this decision.

 

More years went by, and before Newt could even blink, he was twenty-five. An age by which he already should have been married.

Normally, Newt was meant to be wed to someone from the neighboring kingdoms since he was seventeen. But after many refused proposals from potential suitors – most of them being women and men who were after the Southern Kingdom’s rich soils and coveted spices – it became quickly apparent that Newt would always remain celibate, not that he complained.

The prince was more than happy with his freedom to do whatever he wanted, without the horrible prospect of being chained to someone with whom he didn’t have any affinity. Most people among the other families viewed him as an eccentric and odd bird anyway. They didn’t want to deal with a prince who mostly preferred to be alone and was far too invested in studying books about foreign lands and magical creatures.

Newt was conscious of his own qualities. He knew that if he felt the desire, he would have caught a suitor long ago. He had often been complimented for his lean, elegant figure, his copper hair that gleamed like fire in the sun, his freckles that were scattered like constellations along his tanned skin, and his green innocent looking eyes that sparkled like jade in the tiniest flicker of light. If he was vain, he would have maybe accepted a proposal among many others. But it wasn’t the case, and he was completely fine with his current situation.

Theseus didn’t seem as thrilled with the thought of Newt remaining a bachelor for the rest of his life. But it didn’t take long until he accepted it and even admitted that he wasn’t very fond of the idea of someone taking his precious little brother away from him.

That’s why Newt’s astonishment was more than great when Theseus suddenly announced one day that Newt was to be wedded to the king of the Northern Lands in exchange for strengthening the bond between the two realms.

“ _Why_?” was the only word Newt was capable of saying while his reeling mind tried to digest the information. Every emotion swirled like a whirlwind inside his stomach, making it churn and flip like a winding snake. The thought of being king Graves’ betrothed seemed equally insane and utterly strange. It felt like a dream of which he wasn’t sure he wanted to wake up or not.

Theseus visibly winced at Newt’s bewildered question, but his demeanor remained serious as he observed his little brother with a mix of fondness and tired resignation.

“Newt, you know that at the moment our kingdom isn’t doing well. Our economy is stalling and the crops aren’t as fructuous as they had been five years ago. We need help and support from a place we can trust, and nothing is better suited for it than Dracanoye. Percival’s lands are prospering like never before and he’s my friend.”

“I understand that, but what do I have to do with all of this?” Newt retorted, still not seeing where Theseus was going at. He tried to remain calm, but it was difficult when he saw that he didn’t have as much power of decision over his own fate and future like he always believed. He felt a little betrayed, but at the same time he couldn’t be mad at his older brother, which was all the more frustrating.

Theseus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking a tad sheepish.

“This might sound bizarre right now, but Dracanoye isn’t doing well either. The problem isn’t its financial or social state. On the contrary; on that basis, they’re doing pretty well. What is worrying right now is the state of low morale among the Northern Kingdom’s inhabitants. Since Percival lost his wife and children, he isn’t the same anymore. His mental state is deteriorating each passing day, and I fear he’ll die soon too if nothing is done quickly to remedy his situation.”

Newt’s heart constricted upon hearing Theseus’ uttered words, worry and pain making his hands clench on his lap. Since the murdering of king Graves’ beloved wife and children, he had prayed each night to the gods, sending his thoughts to Dracanoye in the naïve hope that it would help, no matter how seemingly inconsequential it might be. Each year, Newt had received depressing news regarding Percival’s state from his older brother. But a stubborn part in him had always refused to believe that king Graves – the powerful, wise and cunning dragon – might succumb to a slow, agonizing death like any other mortal. Vulnerable and alone, in the state of perpetual mourning.

Before Newt could utter an answer, Theseus continued, “While Percival is becoming weaker, Grindelwald, that piece of shit, is getting stronger. One of my spies just told me that he is gaining alliances from Feronn’s surrounding islands. I feel that he plans another attack. If we don’t act _now_ , I fear, both Dracanoye and our own precious kingdom will crumble under his clutches like a house of cards.”

A shadow passed through Theseus’ grim looking eyes, making him suddenly look years older, the weight of his responsibilities as a king bearing on his shoulders like a ton of bricks.

“Every kingdom in the continent, including Feronn, needs to be reminded of the fact that the Southern Lands and Dracanoye are still one powerful unity; that we are never to be underestimated. By strengthening our alliance through the sacred link of marriage, it not only gives the people of Dracanoye and our own people hope, but it also gives Percival another reason to continue on living, at least I hope.”

Newt bit his lip as he tried to digest what Theseus just said, his mind still scrabbling to understand what was going on. With a sense of uneasiness, he realized that the situation of his country was in more dire state than he imagined.

“You make it sound like I should become King Graves’ caretaker,” Newt muttered with a certain bitterness in his voice. Upon seeing the slight flinch in Theseus’ shoulders, he knew that he was being unfair, but he didn’t want his own feelings to be ignored.

“I’m sorry Newt. It isn’t my intention to make you feel denigrated. I’m not very good with words,” Theseus said quietly, and his eyes looked so sad, Newt instantly regretted what he just said. “I know that all of this seems a little sudden. Being the betrothed of the king of Dracanoye is a great responsibility. Suddenly, it’s like the fate of both our kingdoms lies in your hands…” 

Theseus reached out to take Newt’s hand, and Newt immediately clutched at his brother’s fingers, squeezing lightly in silent apology. 

“It was just a thought I had,” Theseus went on, slowly relaxing under the gentle caress of Newt’s fingers. “I will never oblige you to do what is against your will, Newt. If you don’t want to consider my proposition, you don’t have to. Maybe there is another way for us to save our lands…”

Theseus let out a sigh, and Newt suddenly felt distraught, worried and pained all at once. He was submerged by the urge to comfort his brother and lift the weight from his shoulders. Seeing him like this instilled a burst of childish anger against the world in his chest, and he didn’t know what to do.

Wordlessly, Newt rose from his seat and rounded the table so that he could sit beside his brother. With a slight tremor in his limbs, he pulled the king into the circle of his arms and trailed a soothing hand along his back, giving a little hum as Theseus shivered under his touch.

“I love you, ‘Seus,” Newt whispered, suddenly close to tears, and Theseus tightened their embrace in reply, his face buried in the crook of Newt’s neck. It was one of those cherished moments where he could show his own vulnerability and be consoled by his little brother; where he could forget for one moment his unflappable and strong king persona.

“I love you too, little brother,” Theseus murmured, and they both remained seated close to each other, seeking comfort in their proximity in the face of the uncertainty of their future hovering over them like a dark shadow.

 

After their last discussion, weeks passed, the early days of autumn slowly turning the trees in the courtyard in all shades of gold, orange and brown.

Newt had never been so restless in his entire life. He had spent many sleepless nights turning in his bed, wracking his head for a possible solution to the crisis situation his country was in. The more the days passed, the less he was unsettled by the prospect of marrying the black dragon of Dracanoye. Though, it still felt strange to imagine himself standing as the king’s spouse next to Percival Graves, ruling alongside him the Northern Lands. The land of dragons.

With a certain mix of guilt and timid excitement, Newt slowly but gradually found himself imagining scenarios of him meeting king Graves for the first time. Making their vows before the altar. Sharing a meal… Sharing a bed…

He didn’t know what was expecting him if he ever said yes to Theseus’ proposal, and this uncertainty felt equally dizzying and intimidating at once. However, Newt couldn’t deny to himself that departing for Dracanoye invaded his whole being with a thrilling sensation, turning his nerves alight with a constant thrum. His wanderlust became stronger than never before, making his skin itch, and his thoughts started to wander more frequently towards the Northern Lands and their king, like the wailing song of a homesick soul.

Newt was familiar with politics and economy. During his schooling he had acquired much knowledge about the ways of running a kingdom and managing the requests of its inhabitants. But it was a fact that the prince lacked practice. Theseus and his wife had always been the ones having this great responsibility. And they knew at all times what was right for their country. Now, Newt regretted not having spent more time with Theseus during his weekly councils with his ministers. Maybe then he would have known all along what decision he should have made for his people.

Newt realized with a sudden feeling of dizziness that for once, _his_ voice counted. The destiny of one entire nation lay in his hands. He had to be careful, because once his decision was made, there was no turning back.

The prince slowly had to come to terms with the realization that there was no other way. Theseus was right. A union with king Graves would be the symbol of a new hope and a birth of a stronger nation. Each kingdom around the continent would hear the news and regard them with newfound reverence and respect. Regardless of culture, the concept of marriage was a sacred and powerful trait. Knowing that Dracanoye and the Southern Lands of Gilliya were forming a much stronger link meant that even the islands of Feronn would think twice before declaring war.

If marrying king Graves brought a better future for his land, then so be it. Newt would do anything for Gillya’s safety… and for his family.

After another week, Newt made his way towards Theseus’ study, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a scared woodpecker.

As he knocked, then stepped into the room, his brother looked up from his documents that lay scattered along the table, his green eyes widening in mild surprise.

“Newt…”

“I accept, ‘Seus,” Newt breathed, his voice trembling around the edges. “I’m going to marry King Graves.”

Many expressions passed over Theseus’ face. Bewilderment. Fear. Worry. Slowly, he approached his younger brother until they stood inches apart, his eyes softening as he took in Newt’s features. He settled a hand on the prince’s shoulder.

“Newt. Are you sure?” he asked, barely able to hide the trepidation in his tone.

Newt nodded and leaned into the touch, trying to convey that everything was fine. His body may still be trembling under barely suppressed nervousness, but in his mind everything was clear. He was confident.

“Yes.”

Theseus observed him for more silent minutes, eyes searching. Then he pulled Newt into a hug and sighed into the soft tuft of Newt’s red curls.

“Alright.”

 

Newt may have accepted the proposition, but now, they had to wait for the black dragon’s approval. After the prince’s consent, Theseus had immediately sent a letter to the Northern Kingdom. Now everything depended on king Graves’ reply, and Newt would be foolish to deny the fact that he was awaiting the answering letter with a mix of anxiety and curious anticipation.

After three agonizing weeks, Theseus finally barged into Newt’s chambers with a parchment clutched in his left hand, his chest heaving and eyes sparkling with thrumming energy.

“Newt,” he wheezed, waving the parchment as Newt faced his brother with widened eyes, breath hitching. “He accepted.”

\---

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Newt muttered for the umpteenth time as he observed his servants putting his books and other belongings into the carriage that was already full to the brim. He was starting to fear that they would need a second carriage; maybe three.

The weeks after Graves’ reply went by in a blur. The news of the future wedding spread through the whole kingdom of Gilliya like wildfire. Every person came to the throne room in order to congratulate their precious prince, happy to know that finally, Newt was getting married to a king, and not any other king. To everyone it felt like an insane dream. Never would they have expected that Percival Graves, the grieving black dragon, would accept a union with another person.

Newt was unsure of what to think of his people’s excitement. But at least there was a certain calm satisfaction in the knowledge that his country was proud of him and was gaining hope for a better future.

What certainly pleased him was to see the joy returning in Theseus’ tired eyes, even though there was still this bittersweet sadness in seeing his little brother leave his nest.

During the weeks following king Graves’ reply, Theseus helped Newt organizing his departure and took care of the letters that kept piling up in their study since the announcement of Newt’s wedding. The whole castle was bustling with energy, servants and other attendants fluttering around Newt like a swarm of fireflies, chattering and chirping about what the prince should take with him and wear during his stay in Dracanoye.

Not used to being suddenly the center of such rapt and energetic attention, Newt quickly became worn out and stressed; but fortunately, Theseus was a calming presence in his befuddled state of mind, following him everywhere like a sentinel.

Finally, with the last leaves turning copper, announcing the arrival of autumn, Newt’s carriage and his troops of royal guards were ready to leave.

Newt heard that the journey to Dracanoye would be quite long. Three weeks, if they were fast enough. One selfish part of him had hoped that the wedding would take place in his own land, but tradition wanted that he shall be wed at the place where he would live at from now on, meaning that he was going to be alone, without his people.

The young prince couldn’t ignore the growing knot of distress in his throat as he stepped hesitantly into the carriage, his fingers shaking slightly as he waited for Theseus to join him.

Of course, Newt’s restlessness didn’t go unnoticed to his brother’s watchful eyes, and the king took hold of Newt’s hands, squeezing them in reassurance as he planted a soft peck on Newt’s forehead.

“Don’t be afraid, Newt,” he whispered and trailed a thumb along Newt’s blanched knuckles. “The people of Dracanoye already love you, and Percival is a good man. He might seem a bit gruff at first, but he has a big heart. He will always protect you. He gave me his word.”

“Will you come with me? Please,” Newt asked, although he knew the answer already. Theseus had other obligations, especially now that Gilliya was in deep crisis. It didn’t hurt to ask nevertheless, even though it was a vain attempt to coax Theseus into accompanying him to the wedding.

Theseus chuckled in reply, his gaze turning sad as he met Newt’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Newt. As much as I want to come with you, I can’t leave my kingdom behind, unprotected. Gods, you can’t imagine how much I miss you already.” He pulled Newt’s shaking form into a tight embrace and kissed him on the head. “Even when Dracanoye becomes your new home, it doesn’t mean that we won’t see each other regularly. You can visit us whenever it pleases you. And… you have Frank, that crazy bird.”

Newt giggled shakily at Theseus’ playful jab, and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to hide his unshed tears. He nodded.

“Yes, at least he will be with me. It would be cruel to leave him alone.”

Frank was a gold-feathered hippogriff that Newt had received for his tenth birthday. And immediately after their first encounter, the proud creature had become attached to the prince and followed him around like a dog since then. Hippogriffs were very protective of the persons they saw as their family, which pleased especially Theseus who had never been able to shake off his constant worry over Newt’s safety. Now that Newt was going to live in Dracanoye, it was evident that Frank would remain his ever-present guardian.

Both men smiled at each other, until Theseus suddenly rummaged in the inner side of his tunic and pulled out a golden pin in form of an orchid flower. It glinted in the sunlight as Theseus gently attached the pin to Newt’s cloak, its tiny weight resting snugly against the prince’s chest.

“Take this with you,” Theseus said with a tremor in his voice and forced teasing grin, tears forming at the corners of his crinkling eyes. “So that you never forget where you come from.”

“’Seus…”

Newt trailed a finger reverently over the smooth surface of his pin, heart swelling with emotions. The orchid flower was the symbol of Gilliya, its blue petals spreading on each flag and crest of the Southern Kingdom. It represented humility, loyalty and fertility, the three credos of Gilliya. Newt would live from now on at king Graves’ side, but his heart would always remain here, by his family.

Afraid that he might burst into tears, Newt threw his arms over Theseus’ shoulders and pressed his face against his neck.

“I’ll miss you so much, ‘Seus,” he breathed and let out a tiny sob as Theseus rubbed his back in silent comfort.

“I’ll miss you too, little orchid. I’ll miss you too…”

Newt detached himself from his brother’s embrace with great reluctance. But now the time was running and he couldn’t delay his departure any longer, as much as he wanted to.

After one last hug, Newt settled into the warm cocoon of his carriage while Theseus closed the door for him. He extended his hand and once again took hold of the prince’s hand, squeezing lightly.

“I’ll see you soon, Newt. May your light always brighten your path.”

“And your path guide your light,” Newt said with a low murmur, remembering his family’s saying, and as if on cue, the carriage started to move, forcing Newt to retract his hand from his brother’s grip.

Newt peered out of the window, never leaving Theseus out of sight, and his heart made a painful stutter as he saw the king turn his head to the side, eyes pinched shut with a tear trailing down his cheek. 

As the carriage left the city, the shiny domes of his castle disappeared behind the hills, the sunset plunging the lush flower fields in an orange light.

Fighting against the tears that threatened to spill out, Newt took a deep rattling breath and reclined in the cushioned seat of the rocking carriage.

Everything was going to be fine. He had done the right thing.

\---

During the journey, Newt spent his time drifting in and out of a restless and agitated sleep, his mind invaded by anxious thoughts. Sometimes he was torn between the feeling of regret and homesickness, and at other moments he couldn’t help but wait for his arrival in Dracanoye with great anticipation. As the days passed, the prince became more and more aware of the fact that he was finally going to meet the king of the Northern Kingdom; this man he had read countless stories about for so many years.

Soon, he was going to be wedded to king Percival Graves, and this prospect filled Newt with a mix of curious wonder and excitement.

The convoy finally arrived in the Northern Lands after two more weeks. 

The hilly and green scenery Newt was accustomed to gradually morphed into a tundra-like, barren landscape. The tips of snow-covered mountains appeared in the distance, their gigantic height looming in the sky like threatening spikes. A chilly wind blew across the fields and tousled Newt’s hair as he peeked out of the window, greeting his arrival with a low whistle.

As soon as they were deep within Dracanoye’s territory, the girth of the mountains surrounding the carriage became wider, making it more difficult for the horses and royal troops to sidestep the sharp rocks rising from the earth. Though, after hours of patient determination, Newt’s procession finally crossed the first wall of mountains. The path became more sinuous and led them towards the top of another row of those natural barriers, and upon hearing the shrill cry of Newt’s hippogriff flying above their heads, Newt looked up and recognized the first peaks of king Graves’ fortress behind the fog that covered the mountains like a thick blanket.

Newt’s breath hitched as more rooftops and high black towers appeared in the horizon. A giant gate leading towards the main city peeked between the two peaks of the mountain the cortege was currently crossing. The prince didn’t have the time to marvel at the glittering onyx walls of the intimidating looking fortification, because suddenly, another bone-rattling cry echoed through the wind, this time coming from a gray-scaled dragon that suddenly surged out of the fog at high speed like a gigantic falcon and landed with a loud thud right before Newt’s carriage, making the horses neigh in surprise.

Newt’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t help the sound of awe slipping past his lips as he let his gaze settle for the first time on this majestic creature. He felt his heart hammering in his ears and he was certain his fingers were trembling with barely suppressed fascination and amazement. 

The dragon that acknowledged them with intelligent, gleaming sapphire eyes was as big as Newt’s carriage. Its wings were stretched out across the floor like wide leather webs and the scales glittered in various silver shades under the cold sun, little luminous sparks erupting from their surface as the dragon shifted and settled its large body with a rumbling grunt on the rocky ground.

It was only after long minutes of awe-filled staring, that Newt realized that someone was sitting on the dragon’s back. It was a young man who seemed to be around Newt’s age, his almond shaped hazel eyes looking at him through dark luscious locks that cascaded along his shoulders and framed his pale, sharp-edged face like a silky curtain. Both the man and the dragon formed an image of regal beauty, and Newt quickly found himself all the more enchanted by such a magnificent display.

Before the young prince could ask who the pair was, the dragon-rider cleared his throat and said with a low melodious voice, “We were awaiting your arrival, your highness, prince of Gilliya. Welcome to Rasgard, capitol city of Dracanoye and royal siege of King Graves, the black dragon.”

The young man bowed his head, to which Newt gave a slight tilt of his head in reply.

“Thank you for your kind hospitality. I’m glad that I have reached your beautiful city. It is a great honor to finally get acquainted with the proud people of Dracanoye,” Newt said in a reverent breath, his cheeks turning slightly pink as the young man smiled softly, hazel eyes crinkling.

“The pleasure is mine, your highness. My name is Credence Barebone, personal assistant of his majesty, King Graves. I shall escort you to our castle and attend to your settlement and wedding preparation.” With an elegant leap, the young man jumped from the dragon’s back and gestured towards the gate. “If you would please follow me. The way won’t be long.”

The commander of Gilliya’s guards peered at Newt with questioning eyes, and the prince nodded, giving his soldiers the silent order to follow the king’s assistant.

At the guard’s yelled command, the carriage started to move and the cortege climbed up the mountainous path, passing rows of spacious houses, wide towers and bustling crowds. An assembly of people had gathered around the carriage, curious eyes trying to sneak a peek on the prince of the Southern Kingdom. Newt blushed bright red and his heart fluttered in timid glee when he heard Dracanoye’s inhabitants start to cheer and yell greetings at him, the remaining traces of anxiety slowly seeping out of his tense limbs.

It didn’t take long until they arrived at the gate of Graves’ castle. It was an imposing building that seemed to be carved into the mountain itself, high pointed towers growing out of black stone like dragon claws. The dark shades of the castle made a sharp contrast to the snow which had already covered the entirety of the city despite the early days of autumn. The gray flags of Dracanoye framing the opening gate whipped in the sharp wind and the black dragon depicted on them seemed to come to life in the fluttering fabric, its curled tail winding on itself like a snake.

They passed the gate and moved into the courtyard, horse shoes clattering on the pavement as the convoy came to a halt. Credence opened the door of the carriage with a swift movement and extended his hand, helping Newt to step out and settle foot on the muddy ground.

“Welcome to our castle, your highness.”

\---

Newt spent the next hours familiarizing himself with his surroundings, walking with cautious curiosity through long corridors and taking in the high ornate halls of the castle. The first thing that the prince noticed was that fire seemed to be the main element in Dracanoye, which wasn’t a surprise, really. Each wall of every room was flanked by candelabras that contained red, blue or green fire, their flames casting dancing shadows across the carpeted floor.

In contrast to the sunny and floral halls of Newt’s home in Gilliya, king Graves’ rooms were in a perpetual state of twilight, the black walls making the atmosphere seem gloomier than it already was. Unused to such looming darkness, Newt swallowed past the lump in his throat as he followed Graves’ assistant to his new chambers, a sense of claustrophobia making his chest constrict painfully against his heaving lungs.

Seeming to have noticed the look of uneasiness in Newt’s eyes, Credence gave an apologetic smile and said, “Normally, the halls have wide windows and big terraces, because us people of Dracanoye don’t like to be imprisoned in close walls. Freedom-loving, we mostly spend our time outside.” 

The young man gnawed on his lower lip, big eyes flicking briefly to Newt’s face, before he added in a cautious tone, “Though, since our king is still mourning over the death of our beloved queen and her children, he avoids the light and spends most of his time barricaded in his study. If I can give you one first advice: when you see him, do not question him about his life and--” Credence’s cheeks suddenly turned beet red and he sheepishly cleared his throat. “…and his physical appearance.”

“R--Right,” Newt mumbled, a bit confused and unsettled by the young man’s riddled words. 

Before the prince could ponder further over Credence’s odd behavior, they arrived in a spacious room that was already furnished and stored with Newt’s belongings. It seemed apparent that this room was meant for royal members of the Graves family. A plush queen-sized bed covered with furs and cushions stood at the far end of the chamber, next to a row of man-sized windows that offered a breathtaking view on the city and surrounding mountains. A large ebony table filled with books and a vanity stood side-by-side at the opposite end of the room, and a wardrobe beside the bed was flanked by a fireplace carved in onyx-stone. A fluttering fire was already crackling in it, casting a comforting warmth on Newt’s skin.

The prince was glad that at least his new chambers seemed to have a certain familiarity with his room back in Gilliya.

“Is the room of your liking, your highness? If you have a request for other accommodations, I will arrange it for you promptly,” Credence said, making Newt smile in reply. The prince was already growing fond of the sweet young man, and he considered himself lucky to be in such reassuring company.

“This is perfect, thank you,” Newt said, moved by Credence’s thoughtfulness. “May I ask though, when I will get the privilege to meet his majesty?”

Credence’s twinkling eyes widened slightly before he meekly bowed his head and answered, “My apologies, your highness, but our tradition wants that your soon-to-be husband remains unseen ‘til the beginning of your wedding ceremony which starts tomorrow night. Until then, you have to be patient.”

Newt nodded, recalling his lecture about Dracanoye’s customs. He was slightly disappointed that he didn’t have the chance to meet his future spouse today, but surely he could wait until tomorrow. 

“Of course. I understand,” the prince smiled and Credence answered with a shy grin of his own, pale fingers fiddling with the hem of his tunic.

“You must be hungry, your highness. Allow me the pleasure to escort you to the dining hall. Then you can rest for today. You need to gain strength for the wedding.”

Credence made his way towards the door and beckoned Newt to follow him.

“If you have any specific requests, you can always come to me. I’m at your service.”

\---

The next morning, Newt was startled from his restless sleep by the roar of a dragon flying past his window, and for a panicked second he didn’t know where he was-- until slowly, the events of the past day trickled into his muddled mind, making him groan.

Right. He was in Dracanoye and today, he was going to marry Percival Graves, the black dragon of the Northern Lands.

With a drawn-out sigh, the prince slumped back into the soft pelts and let his eyes drift shut, already feeling exhausted by the events that were awaiting him. 

He still had trouble believing that all of this was actually happening. 

How many times had he dreamt of visiting this wild land filled with ancient magic and mystery? In a strange way, the prospect of marrying didn’t scare him as much as it did before. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was more than curious about this enigmatic man who always appeared in his daydreams since he was eighteen. He also had to admit that the selfish part in him saw in this union the opportunity to gain the freedom to explore unknown lands as much as he pleased and be linked to a nation which was known for its fierce independency.

Feeling slightly guilty for his selfishness, the prince reminded himself that he mustn’t forget his main priority which was to protect Gilliya and Dracanoye from the looming threat coming from Feronn. 

Newt had to take into account that king Graves was still stricken with grief. And considering Credence’s words, the situation seemed to be worse than he thought. He had absolutely no clue how he was supposed to act before his king. And he would be a liar if he claimed that he wasn’t at least a bit anxious about this uncertainty.

Before Newt could meditate further on his more than tricky situation, a soft knock came at his door and Credence stepped into the room, a warm smile splaying on his lips as he bowed his head.

“Good morning, your highness. I hope you’ve slept well.”

The prince straightened up and smiled sheepishly in return while trying to adjust his unruly bed hair.

“Good morning. It has been a restful night, thank you. Though… If I have to be honest, I’m feeling quite nervous.”

“That’s understandable. Today is a very important day,” Credence chuckled and gave a curt nod, his luscious locks bouncing at the movement. “But don’t fret. The wedding will be a magnificent event, and everyone already cherishes you, your highness. The bond between our two nations is strong and unbreakable. Having you here with us, my prince, fills us with great joy and pride.”

Newt blushed at those words, unable to look at the man’s smiling face as his mind scrambled for an answer that wouldn’t make a fool of himself.

“Thank you, Credence. I’m grateful for everything Dracanoye has done for my country. Our friendship means a lot to me,” he said sincerely.

Credence beamed, his eyes twinkling warmly. 

“Your wellbeing is important to us, your highness.” he said, and with those words, he walked towards the windows and pulled the curtains to the side, letting the soft sunrays stream into the room. “If you don’t mind, I’ll escort you to the changing rooms so that our dressmakers can take your measurements for the wedding attire-- after you’ve had your breakfast, of course.”

Sensing that this was going to be a stressful day, Newt let out a sigh of resignation and slowly got out of his bed, the joints of his knees cracking as he made his way towards the wardrobe and quickly pulled on a warm robe over his shivering form, still unused to the chilling cold of Dracanoye’s mountains.

As he left his chambers and followed Graves’ assistant down the hallway, a new kind of jitteriness invaded him, making his heart beat fast like the flapping wings of an excited bird. 

A new destiny was awaiting him and he didn’t know whether he should feel happy about it or completely mortified. Today, he was going to get married, and there was no turning back now.

Newt imagined his future consort standing by the altar, his appearance only waiting to be revealed before the prince’s curious eyes.

Feeling all the more intrigued, Newt let himself be led into the changing rooms and waited with anticipation for the fatidic event to come.

\---

“You look dashing, your highness!”

The head-dressmaker – _Queenie_ was her name, if Newt recalled correctly – pushed Newt towards the mirror and giggled in prideful glee as he contemplated his reflection with eyes as wide as saucers.

Newt had worn countless clothes that varied from the simple work tunic to the glinting satin gown destined for important events and banquets. Though, he had always worn them with certain indifference, not caring about his own appearance and how it looked to other people’s eyes.

Now it was as though he was looking at another person. 

He wore a form fitting, emerald green gown that trailed smoothly along his body like silk and was decorated with fine embroidery at the edges. A golden belt in form of a dragon was slung around his waist, one half of its tail held in the grasp of the creature’s snout, the other half trailing in one sinuous and mobile loop down along Newt’s legs. A series of gleaming lacing trailed along his sleeves, making the little elegant arks of his arms and wrists more apparent. Under his gown, he wore smooth trousers that ended in a pair of fitting boots, each one of its clasps adorning a glinting gem.

A long scarf made of crimson fur was draped around his shoulders, giving the copper color of his hair a flaming touch. A flower crown made of fine rubies and jade had been settled on his head, and after further inspection, Newt realized that the freckles on his face had been retouched with red crayon, making them more visible even to the farthest observer. His overall appearance expressed delicate green beauty and proud, iridescent fire. His clothing was gorgeous without seeming too overdone, and Newt found himself admiring his own reflection with rapt disbelief and shy contentment.

He looked like a true intrepid prince of Dracanoye and it filled him with a new kind of thrill, making his body buzz like a string.

Newt was startled out of his daze when Credence stepped up behind him, next to Queenie, and gave an appraising hum, his eyes twinkling with mirth and admiration.

“Well done, Queenie. His highness is ready for the ceremony.”

Queenie nodded enthusiastically and clasped her hands, her smile widening upon seeing the blush on Newt’s face.

“Only one last touch is missing. The veil!”

Newt’s blush deepened at the thought of him wearing a veil. He found that veils were outdated, and who even needed to wear one when the future spouse would see their partner’s face anyway once the ceremony has begun?

Noticing the slight pout on Newt’s face, Queenie chuckled and gave the prince a light pat on the shoulder.

“We want to reserve your pretty face for the last part, my prince. Our king must unveil the cloth himself so he can have his little surprise,” she winked in a conspiratorial manner, to which Credence sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t listen to her,” he said apologetically, but Newt smiled and shook his head, amused by the behavior of his new attendants.

His heart made a jump as he imagined himself being unveiled by the king himself, and suddenly, he found the idea not so annoying after all. It seemed rather fair, to also be a mystery that the king wished to reveal; just like Newt wished to solve the enigma that was Percival Graves.

“Maybe you’re right,” Newt breathed timidly, and Queenie beamed.

“You won’t regret it, my prince!”

\---

The committee was smaller than Newt expected.

As he stepped out of the carriage into the chilling cold, with Credence in tow, he was met with an assembly of not more than forty people standing in front of him and looking at him with polite curiosity.

The afternoon wind was getting stronger, fluttering up the folds of his gown, and with a spark of exasperation, Newt asked himself for the umpteenth time why the wedding ceremony had to take place outside. He remembered having read not long ago about a shrine which had been built in memoir to the first regent who had received the gift of the dragon. The shrine – that stood in a small clearing of a forest not far from the castle – was sacred to the people of Dracanoye. That’s why it wasn’t a big surprise that king Graves and Newt would make their vows in its presence.

But that didn’t mean that Newt had to approve it.

With clattering teeth, the prince walked past the row of ministers and other important people, inwardly thanking Credence for his reassuring presence. He could hardly see through the fabric of his veil, making it impossible for him to walk through the snow without the grasp of Credence’s guiding hand.

He flinched when suddenly, the rumbling and rhythmic sound of a drum reverberated through the clearing, accompanied by a chorus of guttural voices whose rattling timbre made goose bumps trail along Newt’s skin. It was a bewitching and trance inducing chant. As though it came from another world. Newt couldn’t understand the words, but he believed it was a prayer sent to the gods, an ancient mantra already linking him to the black dragon through an invisible thread.

Newt’s hands were trembling by the time they arrived before the shrine, and he was sure it wasn’t just the cold which affected him.

A surprised sound nearly slipped out of his lips when Credence abruptly released his hand and stepped back, leaving the prince shivering on the spot, anxious of what was about to come. His breath hitched as he turned around and spotted a tall silhouette standing by the shrine. He would have mistaken it with a statue if it didn’t tilt its head to the side as if observing him with certain interest.

Newt froze when the figure walked up to him with slow, measured steps and extended a hand, reaching for his shaking limb. Warm and callused fingers circled his own, their rough texture sending a jolt through his arm, making him gasp. The stranger’s hand was big, firm and held him in a manner that expressed self-assuredness and calm. Newt couldn’t help but sigh out in relief, his nervousness slowly starting to subside as he clutched at the grounding hand like a drowning man.

As if sensing his inner distress, the hand gave a light squeeze, and it was then that Newt was sure that the stranger was the king. His consort.

The hand pulled at his own, prompting him to move, and Newt followed the stranger without a second thought, heart fluttering and skin prickling with unrestrained eagerness.

Once they arrived before the shrine, a voice coming from Newt’s far left greeted them, an airy and melodious sound floating through the cacophony of drums. Newt assumed it was the priestess who began to recite the ancient sayings of Dracanoye and bid them welcome to the sacred shrine. While the voice started to recite the credos and asked them to say their vows aloud, the grip on the prince’s hand tightened a fraction, and Newt was sure he was about to swoon when he heard his king’s voice for the first time.

King Graves’ voice was a deep rumble. Rasped around the edges yet smooth and cool like the calm before the storm. It felt like an intimate caress on Newt’s skin, and he wanted more. He couldn’t wait for the ceremony to end. The urge to finally see his king was so ardent, it nearly shocked him.

And then, when they had exchanged their rings, finally, _finally_ , his consort stepped forward and reached out to grasp the delicate edges of the veil. Newt’s body was thrumming with nerves as he watched with a held breath how the veil was lifted above his head like a curtain. As the fabric slowly disappeared from his line of sight, the first traits of his king’s body revealed themselves before his curious eyes.

First he saw a pair of thick-furred boots, then his gaze trailed up to see a massive silver belt and an ash-gray tunic that clung to a muscular body, its strength hidden behind the envelope of a dark cape. A pelt made with the finest wolf’s fur was draped around large shoulders, one end of the pelt held by a pin and a chain to the other end, the mesh lying snugly against a wide chest. It was only when Newt’s gaze landed on the man’s face that his breath stuttered, mouth going agape on its own accord.

A myriad of thoughts floated in Newt’s head at once, jumbling together like a whirlwind of leaves. The man looked menacing. Sinister even. Yet, there was a wild beauty to him that made Newt instantly fall for the man, a sudden pull inside his gut making him want to reach out and touch his face in a reverent caress.

King Graves had a stern looking, pale face, its fierceness highlighted by a deep scowl which was accentuated by the thickness of his dark brows. He had a thin and serious mouth, its left corner pulled up into a permanent snarl by a row of angry red scars that trailed from his lips up to his graying temple. The scars looked as though a lion had dug its claws into his face. A battle scar that surely told many stories that Newt dreaded and longed for at the same time. 

The man’s silver hair was shorn short at his temples, the only long part being a mop of smooth raven-black hair that was slicked back in a severe fashion, making him look even more threatening than he already was. 

The most alluring trait of him was his eyes. At first sight, they looked like black coals, their bottomless depths pulling Newt in like a call of a siren; drowning him in their pitch black sea. But as Newt subconsciously made one step forward, eyes fixing the man’s stoic gaze, he was certain he saw amber colored specks, gleaming like fluttering flames as they caught the light of the sunset. King Graves’ eyes were cold, calm and piercing. Yet there was also a certain wild spark to them. A dormant force that only waited to be awakened. They looked utterly cunning and weary, as though they had seen many lifetimes. And suddenly, Newt understood what Theseus had meant.

They truly looked ageless.

Newt couldn’t hide the deep flush that spread across his cheeks when he noticed those unearthly eyes tracing his features with intent, as though trying to memorize them. He felt naked under that chilling gaze, but to his utter mortification, he found himself desiring more of that attention. 

There was a moment where neither moved. Then, the king lifted the prince’s hand and brought it to his lips, planting a light peck on its freezing knuckles and the wedding ring, his piercing gaze staying locked with Newt’s. His lips were surprisingly soft. Their caress left a trail of pulsing heat on Newt’s skin, making him shiver and instantly crave more.

He nearly embarrassed himself by letting out a needy sound as the man stepped back and released his hand, but he managed to stifle it at the last moment as he was left reeling.

The priestess raised her hand and the chorus of throaty voices stopped with a last, dramatic drum roll. A roar of a dragon was heard in the distance.

The vows were sealed.

\---

The engagement banquet had truly nothing to envy to the Southern Kingdom’s feasts. 

The hall was filled with rows of tables that were laden with countless plates filled with the most delicious and exotic meals. It went from the rare fruits of the Western Desert to the juicy and aromatic beef from the prestigious farming of the Willow Islands bordering Gilliya.

Newt was still in a dazed and giddy state as he observed with certain bewilderment how every guest who was gathered in the hall laughed and cheered in carefree glee, apparently happy with their king’s wedding. The crowd kept sending Newt curious gazes filled with awe, as if they also couldn’t believe that this memorable event was actually happening.

A small smile curled at the corners of Newt’s lips, warmth unfurling in his chest. Dracanoye’s people genuinely seemed to be relieved; glad that their king had decided to turn the page on this sorrowful and sinister chapter relating the last cruel events his country had endured.

With a fluttering heart, Newt kept sending his spouse shy glances, hoping that they could engage in some conversation. He wanted to know who the man was beneath his intimidating regent persona. And now that they had a full lifetime ahead of them, they had plenty of opportunities to get to know each other more intimately.

Both men were seated side-by-side at the elevated part of the ‘U’ shaped table, giving them a complete view on the assembled guests and vice-versa. The king held himself in a nonchalant and quiet manner, his posture still emanating an aura of authority and dormant danger. There was a sense of conscious control and self-assuredness to his body, his limbs seeming to move with perfect precision – without unnecessary movement – as he lifted a hand to take a sip from his cup. That gesture was simple, without significance. Yet, to Newt it was like looking at a monk performing a ceremonial act.

The prince tried to ignore the pang in his chest as he saw the king letting his watchful eyes wander in slight boredom along the assembled guests without sparing him a glance, seeming to be more interested in his contemplation rather than make conversation. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge the prince, and it filled Newt with sudden hurt and disappointment. 

Newt bit his lip and ducked his head, staring with prickling eyes at his untouched plate. 

Perhaps his consort was the private and withdrawn type who felt uncomfortable in first encounters and public conversations. Perhaps he was as nervous and terrified as Newt, but didn’t let it show. But that didn’t mean that it was acceptable to ignore his consort.

With newly regained determination, the young prince turned to face his king and timidly cleared his throat. He was sure his heart was skipping a beat when the taciturn man slowly turned his head and settled his piercing gaze on him, dark ambers glinting in the fluttering flames of the candelabras.

Before his courage had the chance to leave him, Newt gnawed on his lower lip and gave tentative smile, the corners of his mouth trembling in masked nervousness.

“It’s-- It’s a pleasure finally meeting you, your majesty,” Newt stammered. He tried not to avert his eyes in embarrassment as the king kept watching him with an unreadable look, his eyes unblinking.

“ _Finally_ , you say,” the older man replied pensively after a brief pause, the roughness of his voice making Newt shiver in delight. 

“W—Well…” Newt fiddled with the orchid-pin on his chest and swallowed down the lump in his throat, chuckling shakily. “I’ve heard many stories about your deeds and great adventures. My brother Theseus talks about you with great respect, and it has always made me curious about you.”

At that, the king let out a snort, eyes narrowing slightly as he kept fixating the squirming prince.

“Well, I hope your curiosity has been satisfied, _my prince_.” 

There was a sharp edge to his tone that made Newt flinch in shame, instantly regretting his choice of words. But before the silence between them could become more awkward, the king continued, “I’ve heard many things about you too. There is not much resemblance between you and your brother.”

Newt blinked, not sure if his king was either mocking him or just stating a fact.

“Um, yes… Physically, we’re quite different. Also our personalities, I guess,” he mumbled, feeling slightly perturbed by the weirdness of their conversation.

The older man just grunted in answer and detached his gaze from him, returning to his previous contemplation. Silence stretched between them, and Newt wondered with a sudden sense of trepidation how their next interactions would play off.

Deciding to not let it rest, Newt wetted his lips and offered his kings another smile, his ears turning red when the man fixated him again with a hard look.

“I’m truly glad that the bond between our two kingdoms is still perpetuated. I hope that we can get to know each other better, your majesty.”

The man stared at him with dark eyes for what seemed like an eternity, until suddenly, he let out a huff that sounded like a mix of a humorless chuckle and a wheeze, the first scar on his lip stretching taut, accentuating the snarl.

“Stop with those formalities. Since we’re a married couple now, you should call me _Percival_.”

His last words ended in a derisive mutter, as though he was slowly getting annoyed by the whole conversation, and Newt’s heart sank at that.

Newt had to concede that he imagined the scenario of the king prompting him to call him by his first name differently. Oh well… Since when did most expectations turn into reality?

Trying to ignore the growing sadness and deception constricting his chest, Newt forced another smile, saying, “You should call me _Newt_ , then. Or _Artemis_ , if you like.”

Percival huffed out another grunt of acknowledgement before he took a swig of his cup, mouth pressed into a thin severe line. Newt gulped and looked down at his folded hands, which had become clammy during their tense interaction.

He wiped his face before the first tears could prick at his eyes.

\---

The ending of the ceremony was truly anticlimactic.

After the most regrettable dinner Newt had had in his entire life, Percival promptly excused himself and left before Newt could even suggest going with him to his chambers.

The prince knew that they didn’t have to consummate their marriage at the very first night, but a naïve, hopeful part in him had wished that they would still pass a little time together and maybe mend their first shaky conversation. Their interaction may have started on a bad note, but Newt had still the fragile hope that they could go past that and focus on getting better acquainted.

It still felt strange that the man who had offered Newt a silent reassurance and comfort during their vows suddenly became unapproachable and cold, seeming to not want to have anything to do with him.

Maybe the king had just done his duty as the considerate and caring groom in order to keep up appearances before the watchful eyes of the priestess. And now that everything was over, the mask had fallen. The charade was over.

Newt couldn’t help but feel humiliated and hurt as he dragged his feet into his room and let himself fall face-down onto his bed, his whole body shaking with repressed sobs. 

Everything had started so well though. Once Newt had laid eyes upon his king, something powerful had struck him like a lightning bolt. He couldn’t explain to himself why, but it was the first time that he felt attracted to someone in such an ardent way. There was something to the man’s whole demeanor that made his heart beat like a war drum and his skin tickle in a dizzying way. King Graves looked wild and so composed and dangerous, it made the inner intrepid side in him tremble with want.

Those amber eyes that seemed to pierce right through him like sharp knives concealed an inner defiance and grief that invaded Newt with the urge to trace his fingers along the hurting scars on the man’s face with tender caresses and strokes. He suddenly asked himself what Percival was like before he lost his children. Did he smile often? Did his eyes gleam like dancing fire when he was happy?

With a sudden crushing feeling of hopelessness, Newt realized that he had married a man who was now a shadow of himself, who might not be able anymore to desire someone else. To feel happy again…

A sob slipped past Newt’s lips as he buried his face into the furs, his eyes pinched shut, his chest weaving.

He missed his home. He missed his brother. Even though it was Theseus himself who had sent him to this dreadful and depressing fate.

Newt flinched and straightened up when he suddenly heard someone knocking at his door. His heart hammered fast and a myriad of thoughts swirled in his head, making him dizzy. 

Before he could wonder who could possibly come in his room at this hour, the familiar mop of Credence’s luscious hair appeared at the entrance, almond eyes peering at him through wavy strands.

“Your highness,” the man whispered and approached Newt with a pained expression when he noticed the prince’s red-rimmed eyes. “Is everything alright?”

Upon seeing the worried look in Credence’s big innocent eyes, Newt couldn’t hold it any longer. All the pent up tension, anxiety and sadness welled up in his chest like a broken dam. With a pained sound, he buried his face in his hands and broke into tears, his chest heaving and trembling as he tried to calm his wheezing breath. He let out a choked sob when Credence sat next to him and rubbed his shivering back with a soothing hand, cooing softly as a tremor shook Newt’s body all the more.

“Your highness. Please, talk to me,” the young man murmured and squeezed the prince’s shoulder in reassurance when Newt slowly lifted his head and peered at him through wet eyelashes.

“H—He doesn’t want me,” Newt croaked, wincing inwardly at the ridiculousness of his needy behavior. “You should have seen him. He didn’t even look at me. I’m just a burden and a tool.”

Credence’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush away a piece of fur that was stuck in Newt’s fringe with his thumb. 

He breathed, “Your highness. I understand that you’re feeling disappointed and hurt. But let me assure you, our king isn’t cruel. He cares about your wellbeing. It’s just very new and foreign to him to suddenly be betrothed to someone whilst he just lost his wife and children.”

“I know that he’s in grief,” Newt countered, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “I should have realized sooner that he just married me for political reasons. Nothing more. He isn’t interested in _me_.”

The prince ducked his head in defeat and blinked at his trembling hands, unseeing.

“I don’t really blame him, you know… It’s ridiculous how badly I’m affected by his rejection, although I don’t even know him.” A sudden pang of guilt hit him, making him feel even more miserable than before. “He is in great pain, and I’m acting like a spoiled brat.”

Credence shook his head at those words, smiling softly. 

“Your feelings are valid too, my prince. You’ve sacrificed so much for your country. For us. You want to please your king, but he remains distant. Of course it hurts,” he said as he kept rubbing Newt’s back, soft fingertips pressing on tense muscles. “I know it’s a lame consolation… but, please, be patient. Everything is still fresh and new. You both need some time to adjust to your new status.”

As Newt regarded him with a doubtful look, Credence gave an insisting nod, eyes twinkling warmly. 

“Our king isn’t the most talkative person, and it will be hard to pull him out of his self-inflicted isolation. But he is kind-hearted and considerate, your highness, even if you may not believe me now. He doesn’t loathe you or find you burdensome. If he rejects you at first it’s because he has issues with himself. Give him time. Give yourself time. Don’t rush.”

Newt remained silent, his mind whirring as he digested Credence’s words. The more he pondered over it, the more it made sense. With Credence talking like that, everything seemed so simple. But he knew that it won’t be easy. A long and tedious road filled with hurdles was awaiting him, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle it. Yet, he had to admit that he felt slightly better after hearing Credence’s comforting words. The young man was surely right. Newt had just met his king and had immediately jumped to hasty conclusions, his only reference being their first encounter.

He had to learn to get to know his spouse better, and for that he had to be patient and determined.

Nodding to himself, Newt sighed, the waves of exhaustion crashing over him, yet feeling hopeful and soothed all the same.

“Thank you, Credence,” Newt whispered and smiled at the man sheepishly, the fondness he felt for him only getting greater. “You help me so much… I don’t deserve your kindness.”

A pink blush spread across Credence’s delicate features, a timid smile twitching at the corners of his lips. 

“I—I want to see you happy, your highness,” Credence whispered, making Newt chuckle at the sheer sweetness of this endearing man.

“Please, call me _Newt_ ,” the prince said, and his smile grew wider upon seeing the look of wonder and barely concealed joy in Credence’s features.

“Alright, N-Newt.”

Both men smiled at each other, and for the first time that night, Newt looked upon his future with renewed hope.

\---

The next days were pretty uneventful and as deceiving as the engagement banquet, if Newt was honest with himself.

Percival kept locking himself in his study when he wasn’t occupied with his council meetings and other daily obligations, ignoring every attempt of the prince to engage in conversations with him. Whenever Newt managed to gain the attention of the brooding king, he only received a dark look and a grunt that clearly let him know that his consort didn’t wish to be disturbed.

Each rebuff felt like a knife stab to Newt’s heart, but he remained determined nonetheless, his will fueled by the encouragements of his new friend, Credence.

One day, two weeks after the wedding, Newt sat with him in his chambers, reading a book while Credence sat behind him and tried to untangle the stubborn knots in his hair with a comb, his tongue stuck between his teeth in intent concentration.

Upon hearing Newt’s pained sigh, the young man stopped in his tracks and sent his prince a questioning look in the mirror before them.

“Am I hurting you, Newt?” he immediately asked, voice laced with concern.

Newt shook his head and smiled at Credence through their reflection. 

Today he was wearing a wide-sleeved indigo robe that was studded with gleaming gold-scales around his collar. It made the green of his eyes stand out and his limbs seem softer. More elegant. Sometimes Newt amused himself by lifting his hand in a graceful manner, admiring himself in the mirror as he observed the sleeve slowly gliding up his arm, revealing tanned and soft skin like a sensual dance.

More often than not, he imagined Percival doing the act. Strong and calloused hands gliding along his skin as they pushed the fabric away, admiring each little revealed sliver of flesh with a heated caress of searching fingers, thumbs rubbing in circles, leaving goose-bumps in their wake. 

All of this was pure fantasy. Wishful thinking of a desperate prince who craved the attention of a king who only regarded him with aloof indifference.

It often left Newt in bittersweet agony, because if he wanted to engage in more intimate activities with his king, he had to succeed in breaking the impenetrable wall of ice that the man had raised around himself. Two weeks had passed and Newt still hadn’t managed to coax Percival into saying more words than the occasional derisive grunt. 

Gradually, the prince felt his resolve deflating, leaving him with a sensation of weariness and creeping sadness. If it wasn’t for Credence’s optimistic nature and candid encouragements, Newt would have abandoned everything long ago.

Once again, the prince let out a drawn-out sigh, a shadow passing over his face.

“It’s nothing, Credence,” he mumbled, responding to Credence’s inquiry with a sad smile. “I’m just wondering what I should do in order to get closer to Percival.”

The prince closed the book in his hands and trailed a finger along its ridged spine.

“He still forbids me to approach his chambers and still won’t acknowledge me unless I talk to him directly. I know that we aren’t obliged to share a bed together but--”

His freckled cheeks were tinged with a pink flush as he went on, “Sometimes I can’t help but ask myself if I’m that undesirable. I—I don’t ask him to show affection or anything… I just want to be acknowledged. Be his equal… Does he even like men?”

Credence sputtered upon hearing those words, face turning beet red as he looked at Newt with widened eyes. Newt lifted one amused eyebrow at that.

“What?”

“W-Well…” Trying to keep his hands occupied, Credence continued combing Newt’s hair while pointedly keeping his gaze on his work. “You-- You are not undesirable, Newt. And his majesty has had quite a few fleeting relationships with other men before he met our queen. The problem isn’t there…”

Newt perked up, listening with renewed interest to his friend’s words. He became worried though when Credence paused, hazel eyes turning sad and serious as he kept combing Newt’s hair.

The prince settled a hand on the man’s wrist and squeezed lightly.

“Credence…”

“He… He has nightmares. A lot,” Credence began hesitantly, as though afraid that someone might hear him and punish him for what he was about to say. “If he keeps refusing to share a bed with you, it’s because he hardly ever sleeps. And if he sleeps, it is always loaded with horrible nightmares. I think he keeps reliving the tortures he has endured during Grindelwald’s attack. Sometimes, I can hear him scream in agony…”

Newt’s heart made a painful stutter, his eyes widening in shock. He felt ashamed for not being considerate enough regarding Percival’s distress. But how could he have known that the king’s pain ran much deeper than what transpired on the surface? He felt a rush of sympathy for his king, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to comfort him and lift this unbearable weight from his shoulders.

“I… I didn’t know,” Newt whispered, his mind still reeling from the new revelation.

Credence shook his head and squeezed Newt’s shoulder, biting his lip.

“Don’t torture yourself, Newt. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. It’s just that… he has always managed to hide it. His majesty doesn’t want people to know that he is still vulnerable in some way. I’d suggest you keep this secret for yourself. For your sake…”

Newt nodded silently. He understood that Credence wanted to preserve his king from unnecessary questioning and pain. It was endearing to see how protective he was of Percival.

But… Newt also knew that leaving the king alone to deal with his critical situation wouldn’t arrange things either. On the contrary. The nightmares seemed to take a great toll on the king’s mental state, driving him slowly but surely into insanity. No wonder he always seemed so closed-off and rude when he barely even slept.

Newt had to think over a solution, a way to help Percival out. He was his spouse after all. Whether he liked it or not.

For now, he kept this decision to himself. Credence didn’t need to know right now that slowly, a plan was starting to form inside Newt’s head.

\---

With a shiver running down his spine, Newt tapped on silent feet through dark corridors toward Percival’s chambers, his heart hammering so fast, he feared it might jump out of his throat.

That night, he had decided to sneak a peek into the king’s room, trying to test the waters before taking any further action. He was aware that he was walking on dangerous territory. He only had to think about the fierce and piercing spark in those amber eyes in order to be frightened. But he had to try. If not, nothing would ever change.

With tentative steps, Newt approached the door and gently pushed it, relieved that it was already open one gap, a soft light filtering through the crack, into the dark hallway.

Newt licked his lips, sending a silent prayer to the gods, then—

“I can hear you, you know.”

Newt froze, his breath catching in his throat. _Oh, no_ …

Before the wave of panic could wrap its claws around his racing heart, the door was pushed open wide and the tall figure of Percival Graves appeared before him, looking as menacing as ever with those cold, bottomless eyes that kept glowering at him.

Newt shivered. He desperately wracked his paralyzed mind for a quick explanation, but he stopped dead in his tracks as soon as his eyes settled on his king’s body.

Percival was only wearing a pair of gray linen trousers, the rest of his body stark naked and looking utterly glorious. A multitude of scars of different shapes were littered across the man’s muscular torso, making each little ripple of muscle more apparent as they pulled at his skin. Percival’s arms looked as powerful as the rest of him, biceps flexing in a downright sinful manner as the man lifted one hand and settled it against the doorframe, making his posture more imposing and threatening. As Newt’s gaze traced the king’s torso, he started to blush upon seeing the trail of dark and coarse hair on his chest, which went down his belly until it disappeared behind the trousers, leaving to the imagination what lay beneath the thin cloth.

Newt was sure his entire face was red with barely repressed arousal and embarrassment.

 _Oh, gods_ …

“What do you want?” Percival asked coolly, seemingly unperturbed by Newt’s open stare. Either he didn’t notice Newt’s reaction or he was completely indifferent to it and decided to ignore it. Either way, both suggestions still stung a bit.

“I-- I…” Newt inhaled shakily and mentally shook himself, his heart skipping a beat as he met Percival’s probing gaze. “I was just wondering if you could borrow me one of your pelts. It’s… It’s getting colder in my room, and I’m still not used to the climate here…”

Wonderful. Nice lie. Newt was certain that the king had surely seen past his bluff; but if it was the case, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he let out a low hum, eyes softening a fraction.

That tiny change in the man’s simmering depths didn’t go unnoticed to the prince. His heart fluttered and a strange kind of warmth filled his chest. Before he could admire further his husband’s handsome features, Percival turned around and disappeared into his chambers. It didn’t take long until he came back, one arm draped with two covers made of the fluffiest fur.

He dropped them unceremoniously into Newt’s hands, making the prince startle out of his momentary daze.

“Better?” the king asked gruffly, and Newt nodded, unable to suppress a bashful smile as he saw Percival’s awkward attempt at being nice.

“Yes… Thank you, Percival,” he breathed and looked up at his husband through reddish eyelashes, smile widening.

For one silent moment, Percival stared at him with an odd look, an indiscernible expression crossing his face. But then he shook his head and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Go to sleep,” he grumbled, and with those words, the door was shut, leaving Newt alone in the chilling darkness of the corridor.

Newt pressed the furs to his face and sighed into it, breathing in the musk and manly scent of his king that clung at the soft fabric. 

As the prince walked back to his room, he couldn’t help the bright grin that spread across his face, his heart jumping with new vigor. The little interaction with his king had been strange at best, but it was still a victory.

For the first time since he first arrived in Dracanoye, Newt had a restful sleep.

\---

The next morning, Newt was seated in his bathtub, watching the foamy bubbles float as he relaxed into the hot water with a content smile.

The events of the previous night kept replaying in his head and it left him with a feeling of hopeful joy and warmth. He knew that just because one interaction with Percival had gone well, didn’t mean that the future would lack of other upcoming hurdles.

But that didn’t stop Newt from having a new and strengthened resolve. He wanted to stay beside his husband and help him, and he wanted to do anything in his power in order to make them both happy, as naïve and unrealistic as it might sound.

A pleased sigh slipped past his lips as his mind was invaded with images of Percival’s topless figure. All rippling muscles and savage beauty. Despite his early forties and battered body, the man had maintained a strong and powerful shape. Newt wished he could touch him once, feel those shapely muscles under his exploring fingers.

Newt had always been quite disinterested in anything that involved sex and intimacy. Since he could think, he had told to himself that he would never meet someone who could ignite the roaring flames of desire and arousal inside his loins in one heartbeat. But with Percival, all his previous doubts and presumptions were blown into the wind. He wasn’t sure if it had to do with the man’s imposing and enigmatic aura; or his cunning eyes that seemed to look right into his soul and dig up his darkest secrets. Or the wild spark in his depths that drew up in Newt his most primal and adventurous emotions.

He couldn’t deny that he felt attracted to the man. And despite the fact that he felt a bit guilty for his lecherous thoughts – for craving a man who was still in pain – he had trouble suppressing the growing curl of arousal and want that spread through his lower body, making him bite his lip in a lame attempt to stifle a needy sound.

A deep flush covered his face and spread down to his chest as Newt grazed with trembling and tentative fingers his sensitive nipples, the hot water and scented bath oils making his senses sharper and mind hazier. He felt utterly mortified by this act, but he couldn’t stop his mind from drawing up images of Percival stroking his shivering body with rough and exploring fingers, firm hands kneading his skin and touching him at intimate places with the sure determination of someone who knew how to pleasure their partner.

Newt was certain that Percival was more than capable in bed. He only had to imagine the way the intimidating man carried himself as he strode through the corridors as if he owned the entire world. Suddenly, the prince couldn’t help but wonder what type of lover his husband was under the sheets.

Was he rough and demanding? Would he either pin Newt under him, gripping his delicate wrists with one hand while he drove into his willing body with brutal thrusts? Or would he rather pull the prince into the comforting circle of his arms, press him firmly against his chest while breaching him gently with his pulsing length, slowly fucking him into sweet oblivion?

“Gods…”

Utterly embarrassed and already far too deep in his sinful thoughts, Newt trailed his fingers lower, a sharp moan leaving his mouth as he circled his most intimate region.

It didn’t take long until he came. With a muffled cry, Newt threw his head back, making the water ripple around his twitching body. He panted up blindly at the ceiling, chest heaving with heavy breaths and fingers shaking. He lolled his head to the side and pinched his eyes shut, a mix of shame and sated satisfaction making his already drunken mind spin. It was as though his head was filled with cotton, and he feared he would have great trouble standing up from the tub.

With a shaky breath, Newt sank deeper into the water in the foolish hope that it would submerge him completely and never let him resurface again.

He was truly fucked.

\---

“Good morning, Percival.”

The king lifted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as Newt walked into the currently empty council room.

After his bath, Newt had debated for at least an hour if he should join his husband at his appointed council meeting with his ministers or not. He knew that as his consort, he had the right to attend any event and meeting the king was organizing. But he wasn’t sure if Percival would actually appreciate it.

Deciding that he was still capable of making his own damn decisions without seeking his husband’s approval, Newt finally went to join Percival at the meeting, determined, although still a bit sick with nervousness.

He bit his lip as he walked with feigned confident steps towards the table and took his seat next to his spouse, heart racing as he felt the king’s heavy gaze on him. With all the courage he could muster, the prince turned his head and offered Percival a tentative smile.

As their eyes met, the older man suddenly froze, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply, seemingly sniffing the air. His dark eyes flickered with a flash of gleaming amber as he stared at Newt with a stunned expression, which the prince would have found comical if he wasn’t already perturbed and confused by the king’s strange behavior.

“Is… is something the matter, Percival?” Newt asked hesitantly, a sense of worry settling in his gut when the man kept staring at him as though he had just grown snakes on his head.

Seeming to have regained his composure, Percival shook his head in irritation and let out a grunt, his previously flaming eyes returning to their cold and impassive state.

“Nothing,” he muttered darkly, the permanent scowl on his face deepening as he turned back to the strategic maps that were scattered along the table.

Newt frowned at his husband, feeling lost. 

Before the prince could open his mouth for another question, the door to the council room suddenly flung open and a guard barged in, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath.

“My king,” the guard wheezed with frantic eyes, and the king immediately straightened his back, eyes alert.

“What is going on?” he asked, thundering voice steely and sharp, making the hair on Newt’s neck stand on end.

“Sire, the harbor town of the east coast is under attack! Fire has spread around the wall, making it impossible for the people to flee! Until we find enough dragons who can evacuate the city, it will be too late!”

Percival’s gaze hardened, dark irises sparking in all shades of angry yellow, giving him suddenly a dangerously reptilian look. 

A bone-chilling growl left his clenched mouth as he rose from his seat and hissed, “Did you recognize the assailants?”

The guard nodded and gripped his spear tighter, his expression turning grim.

“Yes, Sire. Those are bandits, coming from the Feronn islands. But I don’t think Grindelwald sent them.”

“If he sent them or not, it doesn’t matter. They dared to come into _my_ territory and now they’re attacking innocent people,” the king barked, and with those words, he pulled the cape from his shoulders and threw it violently on the nearby chair, leaving him only in his simple black tunic.

Newt, who had silently observed their interaction with a growing sense of dread, stood up and sent his king an uneasy look, a lump forming in his throat. If Percival had always had an intimidating aura to him, now he looked downright _deadly_.

Seeming to share the prince’s unease, the guard swallowed and asked, “Do you want me to send reinforcements?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Percival growled in a calm voice that only promised upcoming danger, his eyes suddenly turning hard and icy, irises morphing back to its pitch-black color. “I’ll take the matter into my own hands.”

Ignoring the guard’s sputtered protest, Percival marched with stomping strides towards the exit and left Newt alone in the council room.

But the prince had none of that. With a racing heart, Newt followed Percival hastily out into the wide terrace, a strong wind blowing against his face as they both stepped outside.

“Wait!” Newt yelled, ignoring the man’s warning growl as he reached out and gripped his husband’s arm, eyes pleading. “What if it’s a trap? You can’t go alone, Percival!”

Percival looked like he was about to burst in hardly contained rage, the scars on his face pulling his mouth taut into an angry snarl. But he didn’t pull out from Newt’s grasp, which was a relief.

“You won’t teach me what I already know, _Artemis_ ,” the man said in an eerily quiet tone, pressing Newt’s name out in a menacing hiss.

His stormy eyes took on a dangerously steely look as he cradled Newt’s hand in a surprisingly gentle grip and pushed it away, leaving Newt bereft and stunned by the strange act.

“Percival,” Newt whispered, a sudden feeling of dread making his guts twist. “Let me come with you!”

Newt’s pleas fell on deaf ears. The king turned around and jumped with one giant leap over the railing, his body diving into the void as it rapidly dissolved into a cloud of black smoke. Rendered speechless by the display of magic, Newt ran towards the railing and leaned over it, trying to see where Percival had disappeared.

All he saw were pointy cliffs and a raging river that flowed around the castle, down the city. The thundering roar of a dragon could be heard, but nothing showed that Percival had just jumped into the gaping depth.

Trembling under barely contained worry, revolt and frustration, Newt turned on his heel and ran with a look of determination towards the stables, searching for his hippogriff, Frank.

He was going to follow Percival, even if it meant that soon, he would have to deal with the force of the dragon’s wrath.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated. :D English isn't my first language, and I try my best to improve myself. Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://sassy-percy-graves.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is up! I'm sorry it took me so long. I haven't had free time since the past weeks. It was quite difficult for me to write during the few hours I had left outside of work (and I'm such a slow writer...). But I was finally able to finish this chapter up, and boy, it got very long. :'D 
> 
> GUYS, I'd like to thank you for all the amazing comments you've sent me! I'm floored by the amount of feedback I've received!! I posted this fic with the thought that it wouldn't be really noticed. I feel so grateful for your encouraging words, thank you! So, since this chapter got way too long, I decided to split the story in three/four chapters. The plot got more intense than I've originally predicted, and I just love writing some gramander in a fantasy/medieval au! I hope you enjoy this chapter. :D
> 
> Just one more thing: There is violence in this chapter, and some slurs. I don't go into very graphic detail concerning the violent scenes, but I thought it would be good to put a warning anyway.

Thanks to Frank’s excellent sense of orientation, Newt didn’t have to search long until the first rooftops of the harbor town came into view.

His worries instantly amplified the moment he noticed the giant pillars of smoke that emanated from the town ramparts and turned the pale-blue sky in the horizon into a menacing wall of darkness. The town was still far away, but Newt could already smell the smoke’s suffocating stench. And judging by the black particles of dust floating in the air, the fire already seemed to have burned a large part of the town down.

Anguished cries could be heard once the prince was close enough to see the chaos in which the harbor town was plunged, and a cold shiver ran down his spine when he was met with the distressing image of screaming townspeople scattering like panicked mice in all directions as they tried to avoid the scalding flames that were still spreading along the ramparts and lapping at the surrounding buildings. Some of the people were covered in blood whilst others were limping, and in another streak of growing apprehension, Newt wondered if the ambush had already caused dead victims.

Through the thick smoke he could discern the silhouettes of two dragons floating like looming shadows above the rooftops and plummeting in a sudden flash of silver scales into the frenzied crowd with a series of angry roars, seemingly aiming for the assailants that were ravaging the town. Alongside the two raging beasts, the town guards were fighting their way through the wreckages of the burnt houses, yelling commands at each other and blocking blows from their attackers with their shields and spears.

Newt was too far away to make out the shapes of the bandits who were fighting against the town guards, but it was apparent that the assailants were vicious and brutal, not hesitating to inflict pain upon the townspeople, if Newt could judge by the bone-chilling screams that sliced the air and made his skin crawl.

The whole town was on the verge of collapsing, and there was nowhere a trace of Percival.

Feeling his heart clench in flaring worry, Newt tightened his hold on the nape of Frank’s neck and the hippogriff whipped its head around with a little high-pitched cry, seemingly sensing Newt’s distress. The prince immediately loosened his grip and carded his fingers through the golden feathers in apology. He let his searching gaze wander along the rooftops, trying to calm down his hammering heartbeat.

“Oh, gods. I don’t know where he is... What should I do?” he whispered in a feeble voice, more to himself than to his hippogriff; yet Frank clicked his beak and watched Newt from the corner of his piercing eyes, making the prince breathe out a sigh and give an answering little pat on the hippogriff’s neck.

“I’m fine, Frank,” Newt murmured, the feigned sureness of his tone betrayed by the trembling in his fingers. “We should search for Percival and avoid getting caught. We have to be careful.”

The hippogriff gave another cry in reply and flapped its wings, propelling them both high above the town and drawing sweeping circles in the air. Newt leaned forward and clung to Frank’s neck, fighting back a shudder as he squinted his eyes against the icy wind. His hands were freezing and he could already feel the skin on his face grow numb. In his hurry he had forgotten to take his goggles and woolen scarf he usually wore when riding his hippogriff. Chances were high that he would get a cold or worse, but those were consequences he would have to deal with later. If he ever survived this day, that is.

Newt was pulled out of his grim thoughts when a shrill cry reached his ears, and he whipped his head around to the sight of a wooden house that had been partly destroyed by a fallen tree. As the fire spread along the construct, the panicked screams inside grew louder, coughs and choking sounds mingling among the loud crackle as the roof slowly caved in under the flames.

Alarmed, Newt gave a brisk squeeze with his legs against Frank’s flanks, and the hippogriff instantly made a half-turn and nosedived towards the house, perfectly in tune with Newt’s wordless command. The moment he stopped short above the ground with a powerful flap of outstretched wings, Newt jumped off his back with the practiced ease of a rider and leapt into action. He rounded the house with quick strides and took in its battered shape, searching for an opening. The flames had already circled the walls and the only open gap that was still visible was blocked by the fallen tree trunk. 

Newt felt his heart rate quicken in growing despair as he came to the realization that he couldn’t move the trunk without additional help. The voices trapped inside the house screamed their throats hoarse, children calling for their parents with choked pleas, banging their little fists against the walls. Fighting down the waves of panic that threatened to well up in his chest, Newt flung himself against the trunk and pushed it with all the force he could muster, his muscles shaking under the crushing weight that barely even budged. 

“Hang on! Help is coming!” Newt yelled breathlessly through the rushing inside his ears and the ominous crackle of scalding fire.

“Be quick! Please!” the muffled voice of a woman came through the opening, and Newt clenched his teeth, his heaving lungs pushing out a desperate cry of frustration as he pressed himself harder against the trunk.

“Frank!” Newt called, and the hippogriff was instantly at his side with a loud clatter of hooves.

Frank pressed his feathered head against the trunk, and a spark of relief ignited in Newt’s chest as the weight slowly started to shift under the insistent pushes of the hippogriff. Spurred on by the feeling of renewed determination, Newt increased his efforts and soon, after many strained grunts of encouragement, the tree trunk finally rolled off the opening with a fatidic rumble and cracking of wood.

Ignoring the ache in his limbs, Newt immediately jumped through the gap and bit back a cough when he was hit by a wall of condensed smoke and dust. His eyes started to tear up under the biting particles and he had the sensation that his lungs were on the verge of collapsing; yet he stepped further into the room’s dark confines and fought his way through the flames, determined to bring those children back to safety.

As his eyes started to adjust to the darkness, he recognized a group of figures huddled in a corner of the room. Upon further inspection, Newt counted two little boys and a young woman who was holding in her arms a girl who barley seemed to be above the age of two. The look of shock and misery was plainly written across their ghastly faces as they clung to each other and hid themselves behind their shredded clothes in a fruitless attempt to avoid the unforgiving flames. Cuts and other bruises were covering their faces, but to Newt’s relief, they didn’t seem to be suffering from greater injuries.

He gingerly made his way towards the group, sidestepping debris of crushed furniture and wood, and placed a gentle hand on the woman’s shaking shoulder.

“The passage is free now!” Newt yelled urgently as the roaring fire around them gained in breadth. “You have to get out quickly before the roof falls on your heads!”

The woman stared at Newt with huge eyes, confusion, awe and relief passing over her haggard features.

“I thought we were going to die,” she choked out in a wheezing breath as she rocked the screaming child in her arms. “I was running towards the gate when I found those children inside the burning hut. I thought that I could get them out in time, but—”

She sucked in a rattling breath which instantly turned into a coughing fit, and Newt rubbed her arm in comfort, his heart clenching with empathy.

“Don’t speak further. You have to spare your breath,” Newt spoke softly and looked down at the two other boys, who were still huddled up against the woman, peering up at him with watery eyes.

The prince smiled at them reassuringly before he turned his attention back to the woman and pointed at the opening with a curt jerk of his head.

“Now, let’s go. _Quick_.”

“Wait!” The woman grabbed Newt’s shoulder in an effort to stand upright, her face pulled into a painful grimace as she adjusted her hold on the little girl. 

“I—I sprained my ankle when I was trying to protect them from the falling tiles. I’m sorry to ask you this, but… please—” she let out another wheezing cough, her frail form shaking in pain, “could you hold the child? It’ll be easier for me to walk.”

Newt nodded and held out his hands, to which the young woman breathed out a relieved “Thank you…” and deposited the weeping child into the cradle of the prince’s arms. Newt pressed the girl delicately against his chest and cooed in a low voice, a warm feeling spreading through his core when her cries subsided in a little hiccup, a tiny hand fiddling curiously with the hem of his embroidered sleeves.

With a barely audible sigh, Newt turned to brush his shoulder against the woman’s, prompting her to hold onto him while they headed for the opening. Frank, who had been waiting outside like a sentinel, made impatient clicking sounds with his beak and chirped excitedly the moment Newt stepped out of the burning house with the little girl curled up in his arms; followed by the woman and the two boys.

The prince let out a sigh of relief when the cold sea wind blew against his face, his strained lungs expanding under much needed air. He heard the woman murmur a thankful prayer while the boys rubbed their eyes and ogled in silent awe at the hippogriff that was still chirping cheerfully and burying its beak into Newt’s hair.

Newt smiled, his heart swelling with the knowledge that he had managed to lead the woman and the children safely out. And judging by the deafening crack that resonated behind them as the house crumbled into a heap of ashes, he had just come at the right time; otherwise, they would have been buried under the ruins by the next minute.

“Thank you,” the young woman breathed reverently and squeezed Newt’s shoulder as she put her weight on her uninjured ankle. “I don’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if I were still trapped inside with those poor children, who haven’t even found their parents.”

Newt shook his head and offered the woman a faint smile.

“Please, don’t thank me. We still aren’t safe yet. Bandits are running rampant in this town. We have to reach the gate before they find us.”

At those words, an expression of dread, worry, and then grim determination settled over the woman’s pale face, her lips pressing into a firm line.

“Alright,” she said with a nod of her head. Her voice trembled slightly, but her gaze was steady and exuded an air of strong tenacity. “The gate is on the west side of the town. If we are quick enough, we’ll reach it in—”

Her last words were suddenly cut by a low, eerie laugh that seemed to come from the deepest abyss and made Newt’s hair stand on end. He swirled around and his breath stuck in his throat when his gaze landed on three looming figures standing in a dark corner of an alleyway. They seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, without any sound, which only increased the queasy feeling of wrongness inside his gut.

Newt instinctively took one step back when one of those figures walked out of the shadows and slowly made its way towards him, gait heavy and prowling like a stomping bull. As it stepped closer, its shape became more perceptible, and what Newt saw made his blood run cold in a bone-chilling shudder.

A burly man with twin axes in each fist stood before him, grinning at him with a mad smile that spread across his bearded face, nearly splitting it in half. He was as tall as a giant and his naked torso was covered with black ink motives that zigzagged like spikes along his wide shoulders, until they ended in a thick horizontal line on his face above the bridge of his nose, giving his already berserk appearance a streak of unstable savagery. There was a strange aura of decay that emanated from him, and Newt’s eyes widened in shock just as the man cocked his head and his crusted hair slid to the side, revealing the rest of his face.

The woman behind Newt let out a high-pitched gasp, her hand clamping painfully tight around his shoulder; but the prince was unable to produce any sound as a sudden wave of nauseous dread hit him like a punch.

The bandit’s eye sockets were empty.

“Sooo, look what we have here…”

Newt flinched out of his stupor when the man’s rattling voice reverberated off the walls of the alleyway, nearly making the crackling sound of the fire seem far away, as if muffled by a cushion.

“You’re the beast’s new little whore…”

Upon hearing those words, Newt felt his heart race in confused shock, and his breath hitched when the bandit took a step forward and watched him intently through his unsettlingly hollow gaze. As the two other bandits in the back started to move as well, Newt hastily laid the child in his hold into the woman’s outstretched arms and turned back around just as they came to a halt next to their leader and sent Newt leering looks from their equally empty eye sockets.

Swallowing past the heavy lump in his throat, Newt placed himself in front of the trembling woman and the two little boys, and met the bandits’ gazes with a defiant spark in his eyes. Inwardly, he was paralyzed with fear. He didn’t know what to do. He had never been confronted to such a great imminent danger, and the lives of a woman and three children lay in his hands. Alone for their sake, he had to stay strong and fight, even if it meant that he would surely lose his life during this attack. He knew that he couldn’t stand a chance before three colossal men who looked more like monsters coming from the deepest, unknown entrails of the earth.

“Who are you? And how do you know me?” Newt spat tensely, inwardly cursing his shaky voice, and willed his stance to stay firm as he saw the first bandit walk up to him with another heavy step, axe glinting menacingly in his giant paw.

“Oh, I think you know exactly who we are, prince of Gilliya. Or should I say, _whore_ of Dracanoye?”

Newt cringed with a shudder under the man’s crass laughter, and he couldn’t help the startled yelp as the bandit suddenly surged forward and pressed the axe against his throat, its sharp edge sliding millimeters above his skin with a menacing zing.

Newt could feel the man’s putrid breath brush against his face, and he grimaced in scared disgust as he stared back into those eerie, bottomless holes in the bandit’s skull.

Another wave of rotten stench blew against the prince’s face while the man whispered in a rumble that strangely sounded like two voices merged together, “It seems that your master can’t learn from his past mistakes and has let you run free like a bird, flying directly into our arms.”

Newt could only swallow in barely contained affront and dread as the bandit pressed the axe further against his throat and grinned devilishly upon seeing the thin trail of blood slipping out of the wound on the fine sliver of freckled skin.

“He couldn’t protect his own spawn, and now, you’ll be the next,” the bandit announced with a cackle and raised his weapons above his head, two red gleaming dots appearing in his eye sockets as he leered down at the prince. “We will make him crumble and watch him burn in his own fire. Pity that you won’t be here to see his demise.”

“ _No_ …”

Newt felt his fingers shake as those poisonous words seeped into his mind, planting seeds of fear, guilt and despair in his heart. He hit himself mentally for being so foolish to blindly follow Percival into a literal warzone; for putting himself in danger although all he wanted was to protect his king from another disaster.

Now he was standing before his own death and giving a final blow to Percival’s already cracked and wounded soul in the process. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t…

Under a sudden surge of flaring anger he never thought he’d possess, Newt kicked the bandit in the shin, making him stagger with a surprised grunt for a stunned moment. Clearly not expecting this abrupt display of rebellion, the two other bandits growled in warning and marched towards the redhead with stomping strides, their axes clinking together menacingly as they aimed at him.

Newt didn’t wait for them to reach him. He hastily turned towards the young woman, who had been standing stock-still in a state of shock during the whole interaction, and shoved at her shoulder, yelling, “Run! Run while I keep them away! Take the children with you!”

“But what if they kill you?!” she cried, stricken, not budging as Newt pushed her again.

“Just _go_ , I’ll be fine!” Newt insisted through clenched teeth, and this time, the woman nodded jerkily and grabbed the little boys’ hands with her free hand, trying to take a few steps back with her limping gait.

Suddenly, her eyes widened as she looked behind Newt, a gasp leaving her mouth, and Newt swirled around just at the moment when the bandit who had been hit swung his axe at him with a bone-rattling scream, his face contorted into an ugly grimace of wild bloodlust.

Newt’s heart leapt into his throat as he threw himself to the side, dodging the blade’s deadly blow as it swished past him and hit the ground with a loud burst of grinding gravel. Feeling his blood rush in his ears, Newt jumped up and ran as fast as he could to the other side of the alley, not daring to look behind as his assailants were hot on his heels.

But he wasn’t fast enough. The air left his lungs in a sudden rush when one hand grabbed his shoulder and threw him against the nearest brick-wall, a flash of piercing pain searing through his nerves as his head hit the hard surface. He sagged on the floor with a groan and blinked against the blurriness that started to invade his sight, making his head spin with nauseating dizziness. As the three bandits came into his field of vision and encircled him, Newt picked himself up on shaky legs and staggered back, his chest heaving under strained breaths.

He winced as the throbbing pain on his temple intensified, and he had to lean himself against the wall in order to stay upright. Fear started to lash up his throat and the dizziness made his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. He gasped when one of the bandits walked up to him with slow, stomping steps, each stride announcing an approaching death. The man’s lips twisted into a wicked sneer and the gleaming dots in his hollow eyes swelled with a flare of angry red. 

Newt pressed himself against the wall and stuck his hand into the inner side of his tunic. A little spark of relief surged through him when his fingers trailed over the intricate motives of the silver dagger Theseus had offered him for his eighteenth birthday. Whenever he went out for a trip with his guards, the prince would always take it with him. He had promised his brother to keep it at his side, be it in his own home or outside. Inwardly, he had wished that the moment would never come where he’d be obliged to use it; but now, it seemed that he had no other choice.

Newt could still remember as if it was yesterday when he was just a little gangly boy who was barely able to hold a wooden sword in his tiny hands, sniffling in frustration when Theseus beat him during one of their daily sparring sessions.

Theseus was a teenager at that time, but he was already strong, tall and broad-shouldered. It was obvious that _he_ would be the one to take over their father’s throne, and Newt admired him for his fierce, loyal and luminous personality. His brother didn’t show mercy when they sparred in the sunlit courtyard among the mandarin- and orange trees. He would always find an opening in Newt’s guard with effortless precision and throw him off the ground with a well-aimed jab of his sword, laughing good-naturedly when Newt pouted at him through teary eyes.

Newt used to despise those sessions, preferring to snuggle up with a book in the library, instead of grappling around like sweating brutes; but Theseus was adamant that he wished to see his little brother able to defend himself if there ever was a risk of danger.

“Life is unfair, so are battles, Newt,” Theseus had once murmured while rubbing Newt’s eyes with gentle swipes of his calloused thumb in silent apology. “Enemies won’t wait kindly while you try to regain your breath. They will strike, and if you can’t react accordingly, you’ll be dead before you know it.”

Newt had stared at him with widened eyes, lips trembling under hiccupping sobs. But Theseus was quick to console him. The prince still recalled the musky smell of wood, sweat and mandarins as his older brother pulled him into the comforting cradle of his arms and whispered into the soft mop of his unruly hair, “You’re strong and capable, Newt. No one’s going to hurt you...”

Oh, how he wished Theseus to be with him right now…

Now that Newt was standing before three threatening, belligerent giants, he was at a loss of emergency solutions, and he didn’t know what he could do with a mere dagger in his clammy hands. Theseus would have surely told him to fight back with all his might. Never capitulate. Either way, Newt risked an unavoidable death, whether he fought tooth and claw or let his weapon down.

Taking a deep, rattling breath, Newt pulled the dagger from its sheath and pointed it towards the nearest assailant, who barked out a mocking laugh upon seeing the silvery weapon in the prince’s grip.

“Give up, little prince. Any resistance is pointless.”

The bandit stopped dead in his tracks when the sudden shrill squawk of Newt’s hippogriff resonated through the alley, which gave the prince the signal to strike _now_. 

Using his slight and agile frame to his advantage, Newt lunged forward with a brisk jump and rammed the sharp blade into the oblique muscle of the bandit’s flank, ducking his head just as the man howled in pain and threw the axe at him. With a brusque movement from the bandit’s side, Newt was tossed to the ground, but he managed to roll up on his feet and ducked to a crouching position when his second attacker surged towards him with a thundering yell, eyes flashing red.

The swishing of another blade to his right made Newt push himself to the opposite side, and he nearly gasped as the axe planted itself with an unforgiving sound of metal grinding on gravel into the floor right on the spot where his head had just been. Just as the prince tightened his grip on his dagger and prepared himself for another attack, Frank abruptly dived from the sky in a flash of golden feathers and outstretched claws and propelled his massive body into two of the three assailants, sending them both toppling on the floor in a heap of flouncing limbs.

Emboldened by his hippogriff’s intervention, Newt stood his ground as his third aggressor hauled off with a growl and drilled his two axes upon him. The prince reared up on his feet and parried the blow with a quick horizontal swipe of his dagger, metal clashing as the blades collided. The impact was so strong, that it nearly made Newt’s arms give out. His muscles were already shaking with painful spasms as the bandit didn’t leave him any time to recuperate from the blow.

With the ferocity of a lion, the man lunged forward with his axe, blow after blow, and Newt found himself retreating gradually into a defensive position, cold sweat breaking across his skin as he held his dagger above his head and shook under the hammering strikes of his aggressor’s axe.

When his back suddenly hit the wall, panic started to rise in his chest, and judging by the wide, sadistic grin on the giant’s face, Newt knew that his struggles were becoming fruitless by each passing second. 

His stomach lurched when he heard his hippogriff cry in pain as one of the other bandits stabbed its leg with an axe blow, and angry tears pricked at his eyes despite himself, revolt, despair and dread wracking his body with cold shivers.

“Leave him alone!” Newt choked through the pounding in his ears. 

He groaned weakly in protest when the bandit pressed the edge of his axe once again against his throat and tutted lowly, mouth spreading into a gloating sneer, showing a row of sharp, yellow teeth.

“Stop struggling, little prince... Or you’ll only suffer while I give you the final blow.”

“No, please!”

In one last, desperate attempt, Newt tried to stab his aggressor with his dagger, but a large paw surged forward, grabbing his wrist in a vice-grip, and the weapon slid out of his trembling fingers with a loud clatter.

Newt was once again defenseless, and there was no way for him to escape. It was over.

The prince pinched his eyes shut and let out a sob just as he felt the man’s putrid breath drag across his skin, blowing against his exposed neck.

Was this the end? Was he going to die like this, alone and forgotten in a land that wasn’t his own, just because he was too naïve to believe that he could help and please a king who didn’t even care about him?

Newt blinked up at the dark sky, breath hitching when he noticed that it had started to rain. As the first drops fell on his face and mingled with his tears, Newt let the back of his head fall against the wall with a thump, waiting for the imminent pain to start. He whimpered under panicked breaths as he felt the pointy edge of the axe press further against his throat.

_No… Please, no…_

A deep, rumbling growl suddenly reverberated through the alley, ending in a down-pitched snarl that made goosebumps trail along Newt’s back.

The three bandits froze and turned their heads, shifting irritably in apparent unrest. It was as though the air had shifted. Newt could have sworn that the sky had turned darker than before, thick, menacing rainclouds cramming together and cracking under the rolling rumble of approaching thunder.

As the unyielding grip on Newt’s wrist and throat loosened a bit, the prince managed to turn his head towards the source of the sound, and gasped. A familiar looking figure stood at the other end of the alley, hidden in darkness as the last sunrays disappeared behind the curtain of clouds. Its face was hidden behind the shadows but its eyes were gleaming in a spark of burning amber, narrowing into slits, like a reptile ready to strike. Newt could recognize those eyes everywhere, and he felt his heart pounding erratically, swelling in a dizzying feeling of overwhelming relief.

_Percival..._

Said man emitted another growl that seemed to thrum deep within his chest, threatening and utterly wrathful. 

Newt didn’t notice that he was holding his breath in shuddering anticipation, a hopeful sound nearly slipping past his lips as he watched his king step out from his hidden spot. If the man looked wild with his scarred face and piercing eyes, now he appeared thoroughly _livid_ with pulsing rage. His usual slicked-back hair lay in disarray above his forehead, accentuating the feral look on his regal features. His black tunic was tainted with dirt and crusted blood, and judging by the battered state of the longsword in his right hand, he seemed to have already fought a few battles during the harbor town’s invasion.

The king’s overall intimidating appearance was even more striking than what Newt had imagined during his whole life, and he would be a liar if he claimed that it didn’t leave him reeling with awe.

Newt was pulled out of his daze when the bandit who was still pinning him against the wall let out an answering piqued growl and turned towards the king, hands balling into fists with a menacing crack. The other two bandits responded with deep grunts, but they kept their distance, as if sensing that now they were dealing with a much more powerful opponent.

Percival paced around them with the slow, self-assured steps of a prowling wolf, muscles coiling as his right hand played with the handle of his longsword, amber eyes sparking with cold, flaring ire. There was a moment were none of them uttered a sound. The air was charged with static tension, fat raindrops hitting the floor in a frenetic rhythm like battle drums.

They eyed each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then, everything happened at once.

Lips pulled taut into a snarl, Percival pounced on the nearest aggressor, gravel crunching under his boots as he jumped high in the air. Newt could only stare in open fascination as Percival rammed the pointy blade of his sword into the man’s skull with the hyper-sharp speed of a striking snake. The next moment, the bandit was already lying on the ground with his head rolling off his severed neck. 

The sheer violence of the fight rendered Newt completely speechless. 

He didn’t realize how strongly his limbs were trembling as he watched Percival beating his next opponent to the ground in a blur of successive, vicious stabs. His movements had the quick and fastidious precision of an experienced warrior who knew very well were to hit, but the force of his blows were driven by resentful, raw wrath. Although the second bandit was rendered lifeless after a particularly brutal punch on his nose, Percival kept plunging his sword into the man’s eye socket with messy jabs, an animalistic growl slipping past his clenched teeth, making Newt’s hair stand on end.

The third bandit didn’t wait for him to finish his killing spree. With a bone-chilling yell, he threw himself on the king’s back and planted his twin axe into his shoulder, a loud crack of splitting bones slicing the air as the blade pierced Percival’s flesh. Newt’s anguished scream mingled with the king’s enraged roar, and in another blur of movements, Percival had the bandit pinned on the floor. He was bleeding profusely from the gaping wound on his shoulder, but that didn’t hinder him from slicing his sword through the bandit’s throat with a fatidic stroke.

Although his neck was nearly cut in half, the bandit kept pushing his axe into Percival’s shoulder, cackling madly as the king let out another howl of pain. 

“You may have won, _beast_. But Grindelwald will find you,” he giggled hysterically, his voice morphing into an ugly gurgle when Percival snarled at him and rammed the sword into his eye socket in retaliation.

After that, deafening silence settled in the alley. Everything was still, except for the rain’s pitter-patter and Percival’s heavy breathing. 

Newt was still shaking with hardly contained trepidation and shock – the scenes of the fight replaying in his head again and again – and he gasped when suddenly, Percival whipped his head around and fixed him with a hard look, stormy eyes still filled with cold fury.

Slowly, the king stood up and stalked towards him, uncaring of the wound on his shoulder, and Newt found himself making a half-step back, heart racing erratically against his ribcage, a cold shiver running down his spine.

Percival’s gait was radiating domineering power, the smell of wildness and musky sweat hitting Newt’s senses in full force, and _gods_ , this shouldn’t arouse him so much; especially now that the king was seemingly on the verge of skinning him alive.

Newt bit his lip and pressed his back against the wall, his heart skipping a beat when Percival tipped his chin up and inhaled deeply through his nostrils, a low, rattling sound rumbling in his throat, eyes flashing with a thrumming glint that Newt couldn’t discern.

Before the prince could ponder on the older man’s odd behavior, Percival’s hissed in a cutting voice, “I didn’t remember telling you to follow me.”

The king approached him with another menacing stride, his face hovering inches above his own, and glared at him through obsidian irises, the muscles of his jaw clenching tight in hardly restrained anger.

Newt flinched under his husband’s towering posture. The furious, steely edge in the king’s tone felt like a cut through his heart, but he refused to bow his head in meek submission, even if he still felt ashamed for walking so recklessly into a warzone, putting Percival’s mission into a compromising situation.

“I—I know that,” Newt stammered with a stuttering breath and forced himself to meet his king’s piercing gaze. “Still, I came because I want to help. I was worried something would happen to you…”

At those words, Percival huffed out a derisive snort, eyes narrowing dangerously as his dark gaze danced along Newt’s features. 

“If something ever happened to me, what could _you_ possibly do?” he growled, the scars on his cheek pulling the corner of his upper-lip taut. “You should have stayed in the castle. All you’re doing is hindering me.”

Taken aback by the harshness in Percival’s words, Newt gulped, a spark of affront flaring in his chest as he glared back at his husband.

“Percival, the whole town is literally plunged in chaos. I can’t just hide behind protective walls knowing that innocent people are being attacked and need protection. I’ve just managed to rescue someone from a burning house.”

“You could have been killed,” Percival snarled, eyes suddenly flashing with a gleam of angry yellow, making Newt’s breath hitch with a shiver. “If I weren’t here to protect you, you would’ve been dead!”

“Since when are you so worried about my safety? You never talk to me. You don’t care about me,” Newt retorted defensively in a sudden flare of bitterness, and instantly regretted his words when he saw the subtle shift in Percival’s hard features. The briefest flicker of pain passing through those amber eyes before it disappeared as soon as it came.

“Just— just let me help, Percival,” Newt sighed after a tense pause, his cheeks flushing with heat when his husband glowered at him in silence. “There are still people who are wounded and need to be evacuated from the town.”

Feeling suddenly bold, Newt reached out and tentatively placed his hand on Percival’s arm, inwardly marveling at the hard, sinewy muscle flexing under his touch.

With all the courage he could muster, the prince peered up into Percival’s stern, impassive depths and gave his arm a hesitant squeeze, his lips trembling slightly as he added quietly, “You don’t have to bear this burden alone…”

Percival fixed him with an unreadable expression for a long, agonizing moment, his chest heaving under ragged breaths as he squared his wounded shoulder. 

Newt was nearly squirming uncomfortably under this penetrating gaze when the king suddenly let out a grunt and tossed his head to the side, irises shifting in pulsing shades of amber, staring into the distance, as though he was having an internal struggle.

“I’ve cleared a safe passage at the west side of the town,” the king finally groused in a solemn tone and gestured at the end of the alley with a quick jerk of his head, lips twisting into a thin, severe line. “Reassemble the last remaining townspeople and lead them out of the ramparts to the meadows. The bandits won’t reach you there, since they’re coming from the sea at the east coast.”

Newt nodded, his heart fluttering with gratefulness and timid relief upon hearing those words. 

“Thank you,” he breathed, blinking shyly through his fringe when their eyes met. He paused, biting his lower lip, then added, “A—And… what will you do?”

Percival’s features darkened and his brows furrowed into a deep scowl as he straightened his back, jaw set. 

“Kill the rest of the scum,” he pressed out in a half-growl, and with those words he marched past Newt with a muttered, “Be careful.”

Although Newt felt touched by his husband’s unexpected thoughtfulness, he couldn’t help the twinge of worry that twisted inside his gut as he watched Percival’s retreating back.

“Wait!” The prince blushed when Percival stopped short and glanced over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Your shoulder… You’re hurt.”

Clearly not expecting Newt’s uttered concern, the king looked at him with a slightly puzzled expression. Then his eyes softened a fraction before he shook his head and grumbled, “That’s none of your concern.”

Before Newt could protest, the older man vanished once again into a swish of black smoke. Swift and soundless. The prince looked at the spot where Percival had just been with mixed feelings, his mind still reeling from the aftershocks of the violent events.

It was the first time that they had been truly interacting with each other, although it was more like an argument rather than a conversation. Still, it had ended in a better, hopeful tone than what Newt would have expected.

He shuddered as he remembered the way Percival had annihilated his opponents. Brutally. Deadly…

Newt had quickly learned that his spouse was a man who refused to let his emotions show through the impenetrable wall he had erected around himself. But during this fight, the prince had seen the pain; the anguish. He had sensed the pent up rage, distress and despair. The wrath of a hurting man who had lost his family…

He didn’t know why, but he could have sworn that he had seen raw, open fear flashing briefly through Percival’s eyes when the bandit had Newt pinned against the wall.

The prince shook his head with a sigh and crouched down, picking up his dagger from a puddle of mud. His heart made a joyful leap when Frank appeared next to him with a flap of wings and butted his head against his shoulder, chirping softly. Newt smiled and carded his fingers through the golden feathers. He glanced down at the hippogriff’s leg, frowning when he saw the wide gash in the coarse flesh. It wasn’t deep, but it still needed to be tended to.

“It’ll be alright, Frank. Just hang on a bit more,” Newt murmured, a chuckle escaping his lips when the hippogriff rubbed his head against his cheek.

With another stuttering breath, the prince brushed the wet strands of his fringe aside and blinked up at the dark sky. It was still raining heavily, and Newt noticed with great relief that the last remaining fire had begun to recede under the relentless rain squalls. The sea wind was blowing strongly across the rooftops, making the icy water hit squarely across Newt’s unshielded frame. He tried not to worry when he felt the numbness in his hands crawl across his arms and back, making his body shake under uncontrollable shivers.

He hoped that it wouldn’t come to the point where he had to fight again, because he sensed that his exhausted body wasn’t able to handle another onslaught.

Ignoring the throbbing ache in his limbs, Newt put his dagger back beneath the folds of his tunic and left the alley with Frank in tow, not daring to look back at the slaughter which Percival had left behind.

\---

A lightning bolt jolted through the sky, ricocheting off the mountains in a roll of rumbling thunder. 

By the time Newt had reached the western ramparts of the harbor town, the clouds had reached a sinister degree of darkness, making the surrounding mountains look like looming shadows, their peaks pointing warningly at the sky as though announcing a bad augur. The fisher boats floating along the eastern ramparts were shaken by the violent waves of the sea that kept hitting the town walls in a frenetic rhythm, sending the foamy water splattering in all directions. The fire that had nearly consumed the whole town had completely disappeared by now, but the danger was far from being over.

Newt had joined a group of soldiers who were trying to pull a carriage full of wounded townspeople through the gate. One of the wheels was stuck in the mud, and despite all their efforts to push the carriage forward, it hadn’t budged one millimeter. The surprise and relief was apparent on their tired faces when Newt and Frank joined forces with them; and soon after, the carriage was freed from its restraints with a series of hard, insistent pushes.

“Thank you,” one of the guards sighed as soon as they had reached the meadows. He stared at the hippogriff with open curiosity – clearly having never seen such a creature in his land – before he turned his attention back to Newt, eyes wide with wonder.

“I was starting to fear that we’d never succeed in reaching the gate on time.” He paused, his expression turning pensive before he added cautiously, “Your face looks familiar… Who are you, if I may ask?”

Newt gave a sheepish smile and blushed as he felt the other soldiers sending him curious glances.

“O—Oh, ah, well… I’m Prince Artemis, consort of his majesty, Percival,” he answered, and a low murmur went through the crowd. 

Many faces turned towards him, wide-eyed, and Newt wasn’t sure whether he should feel intimidated by the attention or not.

“The prince who was blessed with dragon dust… Child of Eivör,” the guard whispered reverently and hastily bowed his head, sputtering, “I—I’m sorry for my impertinence, your highness. We all have heard about our king’s alliance with your kingdom, but—”

“He has saved me and the children from imminent death. He has come to help us with our king,” a familiar voice suddenly chimed in, and Newt’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized the young woman he had been separated from during the fight.

She smiled brightly at him from the carriage she was sitting on, the two boys and the little girl still huddled next to her, looking pale and exhausted, yet safe. Nearly every person was ogling him by now, a cacophony of awed chatter passing through the crowd, and Newt instantly wished he had kept his mouth shut. He knew that his real identity would be known sooner or later, but he couldn’t deny that he wasn’t very fond of being the center of attention. 

Helping the townspeople in his anonymity had made him feel close to them, but now he would always be reminded of his position as the consort of the Black Dragon; the prince whose destiny was to strengthen the bond between Dracanoye and Gilliya.

Newt wondered what the soldier had meant by calling him ‘ _Child of Eivör_ ’… Who was Eivör? Was there an element in this complex culture of Dracanoye which he wasn’t aware of?

His thoughts came to a tumbling halt when an ear-splitting roar cut the air, quakes rippling through the earth in a thunderous rumble, making him nearly topple over with a startled gasp. Alarmed, Newt glanced up at the sky, and what he saw made his breath stop short in his throat.

A giant wyvern-like dragon surged in a flash of black scales through the rainclouds, its majestic wings spread wide as it approached the sea and hovered above the raging waves. The beast looked utterly menacing with its massive snout that showed a row of long, razor-sharp fangs. A series of poisonous looking barbs trailed from its head along its back until they ended on its long, pointy tail, accentuating the curves of its powerful frame. Newt was certain that its scales would have glittered in all shades of onyx if there were any sunrays left; but now, they looked as black as the deepest night in the gloomy sky, swallowing all remaining light like a giant black hole. The two other sliver-scaled dragons that were still flying above the rooftops looked like pups compared to the sheer size of the black wyvern. Its titanic body casted a looming shadow above the sea, and Newt could have sworn he could feel the rolling wind blow against his face when the dragon flapped its huge wings above the clashing waves.

The prince felt his heart thudding in his ears as he stared at the overwhelmingly impressive scene, unaware of the pain stinging his nerve-endings as his hand clenched tightly around the orchid-pin on his chest, shaking.

Never would he have thought that one day he’d witness such a phenomenon in his entire life. All the books and documents he had read about the king of Dracanoye were unable to prepare him to the dreamlike scene that would play out in front of him.

He knew for certain that _this_ was Percival. The Black Dragon of Northern Kingdom. 

His mind was a literal mess of swirling emotions – awe, shock, bewilderment… – and his breath hitched when the dragon cocked its head to the side and the familiar row of large scars came into view, trailing from its left masseter muscle to the back of its head. Its eyes were gleaming like heated coals, from the darkest amber to the acid glow of spiking yellow, and its pupils were vertical slits that blew wide as the dragon bared its fangs and gave another furious roar.

The air was literally cracking and sizzling with energy as the townspeople screamed frenzied cheers upon seeing their king. The soldiers lifted their spears in the air and stomped their feet in a frenetic rhythm on the floor, their battle cries mingling with the voices of a few townspeople who had started to chant, their hands folded above their chests, eyes fixed on the looming silhouette of the black dragon.

Goosepumpbs spread across Newt’s skin as the rhythmic, guttural chants washed over his senses, making his nerves buzz in a way he hadn’t felt before.

Another rumble of rolling thunder reverberated through the mountains as Percival propelled his body high in the air and then flew head-first towards a moving ship that seemed to belong to the assailants, snout opened wide, and a flare of smoke swelling threateningly between his jaws.

The sea was illuminated in a sudden flash of piercing light when the dragon spit out a thrumming blast of blazing fire, blue flames crackling menacingly as it hit the sea. The bandits’ ship was split in half under the force of the raging fire, and wood hissed as the transport sunk under the waves in a whirl of black steam. The other two dragons answered Percival’s roar with excited yaps and drew sweeping circles around him, smoke puffing out of their nostrils. 

A wave of triumphant cheers rolled through the crowd. The townspeople threw their fists above their heads, praising their king as the last remainders of their enemies sunk with one final sizzle of smoke beneath the water. The danger was finally gone, yet something seemed to be amiss judging by the way Percival kept roaring angrily, eyes sparking in wild shades of crimson, a color Newt had never witnessed in him before.

The twinge of worry that had started to twist in the prince’s chest became greater when the dragon suddenly let its body plummet towards the nearest scrape of land and landed inelegantly on the floor with a quaking thump, the claws of its wings scraping through the mud as it tossed its head to the side with a high-pitched screech that made the hair on Newt’s neck stand on end.

It was as if Percival was possessed by something that drove him utterly mad. The king stomped his claws on the ground and shook himself with a series of ear-piercing roars, pupils blown wide in unleashed fury. His body was shaking under spiking tremors, his wings hitting the floor with wild, uncoordinated flaps. Something was fretting the king, and it only seemed to become worse.

Then, Newt saw it. 

The gaping wound near the dragon’s clavicle was still bleeding profusely. A greenish color had started to form around it, acid bubbles sprouting along the inflamed flesh. As the prince observed Percival’s agitated state with consternation, crushing realization hit him like a violent blow. The axe-wound was poisoned.

“Percival…”

Newt balled his trembling hands into fists, his heart giving a painful stutter. He had to do something, otherwise Percival would become uncontrollable and hurt himself in the process.

Under sudden impulse Newt gave a sharp whistle, and his hippogriff appeared next to him with a loud screech. In a flutter of robes, Newt was already sitting on Frank’s back, a determined look settling over his features as he watched the raging dragon.

“Wha— Hey, what are you doing?”

One of the guards walked up to him with a panicked look and yelped when Frank snapped at him with a warning click of his beak.

“You can’t go to him now! Sometimes he gets edgy after a fight. Wait until he calms down, unless he’s going to hurt you!”

“My husband is hurt,” Newt replied tersely and glanced at the guard with a stern look. “I’m not going to sit here while he is obviously in pain.”

He ignored the soldier’s protest and gave Frank a little clap on his neck before adding in softer tone, “I’ll be fine. Go, help the wounded while I try to reason him.”

“Your highness, please don’t do it!”

The guard’s insistent yells were drowned by the energetic flapping of wings as Frank set off and launched Newt high above the ground. The prince clung to his neck and steered him towards the dragon with a squeeze to his flanks. The closer they got to Percival, the more Newt became hyper-aware of the dragon’s looming size. Percival was _huge_ up close, and the prince had to quell the rising dread in his throat as he guided his hippogriff around the thrashing dragon.

His heart nearly stopped when Percival suddenly whipped his head around and roared at him with bared teeth, his blazing hot breath nearly chafing Newt’s skin raw. The prince gasped as Frank managed to dodge the sharp canines with a quick duck of his head, sending them both trundling under the dragon’s jaw. One second too late and Newt would have lost his scalp, of that he was sure.

He tried to keep his apprehension under control as he watched Percival roar and toss his massive body around with the mad ferocity of a raging beast. The dragon’s eyes were blinking frantically, the yellow shade of their irises drowning under the blood of popped arteries. 

As Newt’s gaze locked with his, a sudden flash of pain surged through his body, nearly making him topple off Frank’s back. His nerves were ripped raw under the pulsing waves of anguish that kept washing over him like the unrelenting strikes of lightning. He gritted his teeth with a groan as his body was wracked by shaking spasms, making his head spin. A feeling of panic and distress hit him at full force, and it was with an abrupt spark of clarity that Newt noticed that those blustering emotions clashing with the swirl of his senses weren’t his own.

For one fleeting moment Newt could _feel_ with unnerving tangibility Percival’s agony; his sorrow, his anger, his grief… The heart-crushing pain of a father who had lost everything he had cherished.

Newt felt something wet trail down his cheek, and it was only then he realized that he was crying. The crushing weight of Percivlal’s emotions on his mind was unbearable. He had never felt so much pain in his entire life, and he wanted nothing more than rip it away and promise Percival that he would never have to suffer ever again. 

The phantom grip of Percival’s emotions around Newt’s floundering soul was suddenly gone with one final flare of pain, leaving him reeling with a stuttering breath. For a split-second he thought that what had just happened was a mere figment of his imagination. But it had felt so _real_ … It had to be real.

He didn’t know how and why they had been struck by this unexplainable phenomenon, but Newt was certain of one thing: he had to help his consort before his mind became completely possessed by his creeping fury.

“Percival!” Newt screamed, a startled yelp escaping him when Percival growled lowly in his chest and snarled at him, clouds of thick smoke puffing out of his flared nostrils.

The dragon’s huge eyes were following Newt’s movements with keen attention, and a high-pitched, plaintive whine rumbled in his chest as the gash on his wing gushed out another flow of blood. Percival’s pulsing irises seemed to have lost a bit of their mad gleam, and there was less heat to the rattling growl he huffed out when Newt gathered the courage to reach out a hand and place it tentatively on his snout.

The dragon was still very agitated, his sharp teeth bared in a display of barely contained aggression, like a caged animal; but he didn’t move his head away when Newt splayed his delicate fingers on his snout, digits trailing along heated scales in a gentle caress.

“I’m here, Percival. Everything’s alright,” Newt murmured quietly, a relieved sob making his heart clench when Percival answered with a deep, rumbling hum and half-closed his eyes, still observing the prince with this piercing gaze of his, sharp irises boring into him as though searching for an ill-intentioned thought in Newt’s mind.

The prince maintained eye-contact with him, although the scared part in him bristled under the intensity of Percival’s heavy gaze. He wanted to show that Percival could trust him. That nobody was going to hurt him…

“That’s it. I’m here… I’ll help you…”

He kept cooing softly as Percival ducked his head and let his giant body settle down on the humid grass. The dragon was still observing Newt with intent when the prince jumped off Frank’s back and approached him with slow, cautious steps, mindful of the pointy wings that planted themselves into the mud, framing his body.

The sheer size of Percival’s frame was truly impressive, and Newt couldn’t suppress the excited shudder that trailed down his spine as he stepped forward and placed his palm on the dragon’s snout, marveling at the smoothness of the scales. Fluttering warmth settled in his belly when Percival blew puffs of smoke through his nostrils and leaned into the touch. A low, anguished sound thrummed in Percival’s chest, making Newt’s heart constrict in sympathy, and the prince gave an answering little rub on the beast’s scarred cheek.

“Your wound needs to be treated. We have to go back to the castle, quickly,” he whispered, to which he received a huffed growl. 

He stepped back with a gasp when Percival shook his massive head and closed his eyes, as though he was deeply concentrating, and in a sudden unsettling sound of cracking bones, his body started to twist and envelope itself in a swirl of winding smoke. Newt could only stare in awe as Percival vanished behind the wall of black mist until the floating strands of darkness blew into the wind in a smooth swish. With another cracking sound, the king reappeared before him, this time in his human-form.

The transformation seemed to have taken a toll on his last forces. The king was crouching on all fours and nearly flopped down on the grass with a low groan, his head hanging heavily between his outstretched arms. The collar of his tunic hung low around his shoulders, revealing the wound that had reached an unhealthy putrid color by now.

He let out a warning growl when Newt kneeled next to him, but the prince ignored him and settled his palm on his uninjured shoulder. He gave his back gentle strokes as Percival panted at the ground with heavy grunts, slight tremors coursing through his battered body as he regained his breath. Newt had the overwhelming desire to cup his husband’s cheeks and place reassuring pecks on his forehead, but he restrained himself before it could come to that, sensing that he should better not test his luck. He had to consider himself lucky that Percival even let him into his personal space in the first place.

After another ragged breath, the king raised his head and glanced at Newt with an unreadable expression, a flicker of amber passing through the obsidian darkness of his depths. The prince ducked his head, hiding behind his fringe, and peered back at his husband with a sheepish flick of emerald eyes, feeling suddenly shy.

He awkwardly cleared his throat when Percival’s gaze trailed along his face, as though he was seeing him for the first time, a thoughtful— nearly astounded expression settling over his regal features. There was a subtle shift to the air as they kept eyeing each other in charged silence. Newt felt as though he was pulled into the bottomless pools of his king’s eyes, and he found himself leaning slightly forward, his heart fluttering against his ribs when he felt Percival’s body heat caress his chilled skin, although they were barely even touching.

The moment came to a sudden end when the sound of hasty footsteps approached them, and they both turned their heads to the sight of worried looking soldiers running towards them. Newt felt the king’s back tense up under his palm, and it was with a twinge of disappointment that he saw the change in Percival’s features. The weary, almost soft look in his eyes was promptly replaced by his usual stern, steely expression, and the prince found himself taking a hesitant step back as Percival stood up with a grunt, a pained grimace passing briefly over his scarred face.

“Sire!” 

One of the guards bowed his head, and Percival straightened his stance, his gaze settling imperiously on his interlocutor’s face.

“Sire,” the guard repeated, and his frantic eyes darted briefly to Newt before they glanced back at the king. “The bandits have been defeated thanks to your intervention. We can’t thank you enough.” He bowed his head again before adding tentatively, “Is there something we can help you with, your majesty?”

Percival shook his head and gestured at the harbor town with a curt wave of his hand.

“Go back to the town and help the wounded,” he said with the firm voice of someone who was used to giving commands. “The homeless need a shelter and care while we rebuild what has been destroyed. I’ll send reinforcements in the briefest delay. Until then, do as I say.”

The soldiers saluted and promptly jumped into action, the rhythmic ‘clank’ of their armors reverberating through the fields as they made their way back to the town. 

As soon as Newt was sure that no one was watching them, he turned towards his husband and contemplated his severe features with a worried look, a blush rising to his cheeks when the king met his eyes with a scowl. Percival’s face was an impassive mask, but it wasn’t hard for Newt to perceive the subtle strain in the man’s posture. Judging by the sheen of sweat on his forehead and exhausted lines at the corners of his eyes, Percival was obviously still in great pain, and Newt wanted nothing more than lift the weight from his shoulders; tell him that he didn’t need to hide from him…

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Percival abruptly stepped up to him and curled a strong arm around his waist, pressing his slight frame against his body. Newt instantly went beet-red, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat as his senses were invaded by the sheer proximity of his king. The sensation of hard, coiling muscle against his frame had him shuddering, and the musky, oh-so manly scent nearly made his head spin with aroused giddiness.

He blinked up in confused bewilderment as Percival tightened his grip around his waist and closed his eyes in concentration, jaws clenching tight under concealed effort.

“Percival, w—what are you doing?” Newt stammered feebly, and yelped when suddenly everything around them turned pitch-black and the floor disappeared under his feet, leaving him reeling in shock. He gripped tightly at Percival’s uninjured shoulder and pinched his eyes shut as he felt the world spin around him, the sudden smell of thick smoke tickling his nose, making his mind hazy.

“Hush,” Percival snapped gruffly, but he pressed Newt further against his body with a flex of his arm, rough fingers splayed securely around the prince’s slim waist.

It didn’t take long until Newt felt the reassuring press of safe ground under his feet.

He winced inwardly at the needy sound that nearly slipped past his lips when Percival released his hold on his waist. The lack of his husband’s warmth on his skin had him opening his eyes, and he gasped when his gaze landed upon the high, pointy towers of Percival’s fortress. 

They were back in Rasgard.

Newt didn’t have the time to ponder on Percival’s impressive magical skills, because the door of the terrace they were standing on flew open and Credence dashed towards them, worry and apprehension written all over his pale features.

The prince felt a joyful flutter in his belly when their eyes met, and Credence’s face lit up— but before he could utter a word, Percival barked, “Credence. Emergency council. _Now_.”

The brief flash of alarm in Credence’s eyes was promptly replaced with a look of grim determination, and he gave a jerky nod of his head before he ran off. As he reached the door, he turned to send Newt a quick glance full of silent reassurance, and then left them alone, the door closing behind him with a loud click.

Newt let out a shaky sigh, his limbs already aching with crushing exhaustion as he thought about what was awaiting them today. Of course Percival would want to have a meeting with his ministers, now that the Feronn Islands had decided to strike once again. But his wound needed to be cured, and Newt hoped that his king wasn’t that foolish to simply brush it off like it was nothing.

As if reading his thoughts, the king marched wordlessly towards another entrance with one hand clutched around his wounded shoulder, his gait still radiating intimidating power despite the apparent pain the poison seemed to inflict on him. Newt watched his retreating back with a forlorn look, unable to stifle the pang of hurt in his chest when he realized that his spouse was apparently ignoring him again.

The prince fought the lump that had started to form in his throat and walked briskly behind the older man, a huff of exasperation making the strands of his fringe flutter up. Now that they had finally interacted with each other, Newt wasn’t going to let himself be pushed aside like a mere piece of furniture.

The sound of their footsteps in the dark corridors was deafening compared to the heavy silence between them, and Newt briefly wondered if Percival was even aware of his presence. His doubts were blown to the wind when the king stopped midway on the steps of the winding staircase leading towards his chambers and turned his head, thick brows furrowing as his cold gaze settled on the prince.

“Why are you following me?” he asked with a warning rumble in his tone that had Newt gulping with a twinge of uneasiness. 

The prince was almost playing with the idea of leaving Percival alone when a thought occurred to him. His husband seemed to want to lick his wounds in his own privacy, intending to hide his vulnerability. Letting Newt into his chambers meant that he would have to bare himself before him, and that was clearly too much to ask for a man who was used to deal with his burden alone. The aggression in his husband’s tone concealed the wail of a wounded beast that had long forgotten how to accept support.

Newt was aware that now he was walking on dangerous territory, but he had to make Percival understand that he could trust him. Trust was something that had to be earned; that needed to be built and cared for, and Newt had the fullest intention to be at his husband’s side, even if it meant that he would have to be very patient before the king started to open up to him, if only a little.

The anguish that Newt had felt in Percival’s soul still left him shaken and distraught, which led him to the question if the king had felt Newt’s emotions as well. If it was the case, then he didn’t show it.

“Your wound,” Newt insisted calmly, inwardly shivering under the man’s keen, unwavering gaze. “You can’t treat it on your own.”

The man let out a humorless huff, but his eyes were almost soft as he replied, “You better tend to your own aches. Go put something dry on before you catch a cold.”

There was something in his tone which tolerated no rebuttal, making Newt hesitate. He bit his lip as he watched Percival marching up the last steps, feeling torn between ignoring his husband’s obvious refusal and leaving him alone, which was the sanest decision to make, if he wanted to avoid any conflict. But when was the right moment to approach his king if the man kept shutting him out?

Under a sudden surge of bravery, Newt ran hastily after his husband and followed him inside his chambers before the king could close the door shut, a deep blush pinking his cheeks when he felt Percival glare at him with narrowed eyes.

Now, Newt was definitely playing with fire, but he rather preferred to die knowing that he had tried to be close to his consort than wallowing in self-pity and doing nothing.

With all the courage he could muster, Newt met Percival’s sharp gaze with a stubborn glare and crossed his arms over his chest, inwardly hoping that it would make him seem at least a bit confident. His heart was beating so fast against his ribs, he feared that the man could hear it, but he tried to stomp his growing apprehension down and stared back at his husband, inwardly bristling at the intensity of his piercing eyes.

Seemingly not expecting to be confronted, Percival raised his chin, an almost truculent look passing through his depths as he studied Newt in silence. There was a fleeting moment where Newt believed the left corner of Percival’s lip was pulled up – baring a brief flash of teeth in sign of intimidation – but then the man interrupted their staring contest with a huffed grunt and moved towards the fireplace that was already lit by crackling flames, his back turned to Newt.

Feeling perplexed by the sudden shift in Percival’s behavior, Newt watched pensively the man’s strong yet world-weary looking frame, the fire casting his fluttering shadow across the stone-floor. If Newt looked more closely, he could imagine that it was Percival’s dragon nature that tried to escape the cage of his human body…

He couldn’t explain to himself what had just happened, but it was as though his consort had seen something in his eyes that had made him relent; be it out of respect or plain exhaustion. Newt supposed it was surely the latter, if the pained grimace on Percival’s features was of any indication.

A heat crept up Newt’s neck when he saw Percival suddenly divesting himself of his tunic, his scarred back coming into full display as the soiled fabric slid down his shoulders. The king was as impressive from behind as any other part of his build. The defined muscles of his back rippled at each little movement, coiling under taut skin as he leaned forward and tossed the tunic into the sizzling fire. Newt couldn’t help the hitch in his breath as his gaze trailed down the man’s alluring shape. The large scars crisscrossing along his back told stories about countless battles he had fought, and Newt couldn’t help but wonder about the origin of each one of them. If he let his fingers trail along the ridged texture of a large scar, would it still hurt? Would Percival’s battle-worn skin still feel something despite the obvious torture it had endured?

The scraping sound of wood grinding on stone startled Newt out of his musings as Percival took a bench from beside his bed and pulled it towards the fireplace before settling down with an inaudible sigh. He stretched his hand towards the flames, and it was only then that Newt noticed the iron cauldron hanging above the dancing fire. The chains clinked as Percival grabbed a worn-out looking towel and plunged it into the pot. A cloud of hot steam swirled out of its content, and after brief moment Percival pulled the drenched fabric out and slapped it unceremoniously on his wounded shoulder. Newt didn’t know in what sort of liquid the cloth had been bathed, but it seemed to have an immediate effect, judging by the way it instantly sucked up the poisonous pus around the wound like a sponge.

During the whole process, Percival was sitting in a hunched position, his head hanging low, eyes squeezed shut in a strained grimace as he waited for the cloth to be completely drenched in poison. The man was eerily silent, the only sound being his low, ragged breath that made something in Newt’s chest constrict.

With tentative steps, Newt walked towards the king and slowly reached out, his breath hitching in surprise when the pads of his fingers made contact with the nape of Percival’s neck. The skin was blazing hot, nearly making Newt flinch away with a start, and his heart skipped several beats when the man cracked an eye open and watched him silently with a sharp gleam in the yellow topaz of his iris. As if daring him to touch him further.

It was as though he was ready to strike at any little misstep, which didn’t help the growing unease that made Newt’s stomach twist as he kept his palm on the man’s neck, fingers twitching under barely contained apprehension. Percival’s body was literally oozing bestial force. The prince couldn’t help the shudder at the base of his spine as he let his eyes trail along the man’s calloused hands, imagining them wrapped around his frail neck. They could easily envelope the girth of his neck in a possessive embrace, and alone that thought made the prince shiver in arousal. The thought was scary, yet equally exhilarating, making something primal in him ignite with a spark, startling him.

The prince let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding the whole time, his cheeks flushing bright pink in embarrassment when the king kept glowering at him with that unreadable look that seemed to pierce through him like needles, plucking at the deepest secrets of his mind. Invading. _Knowing_. There was something unsettling to the keen glow in those depths that gave Newt the uncanny feeling that Percival was sensing the stumbling emotions in his mind. It was as though he was lying bare under the fierce inspection of his king, and it only made him feel all the dizzier with yearning.

Under a sudden impulse, Newt brushed his fingers along the stiff coil of Percival’s trapezius muscle and pushed the damp cloth aside, mindful of the wound that was still inflamed around the edges. He caught a whiff of lavender and other aromatic herbs as the towel dropped to the floor in a heap, but the relaxing scents weren’t strong enough to muffle the acid stench that emanated from the rest of crusted pus around the gash.

“It needs to be stitched,” Newt murmured and pressed his thumb tenderly on a tense spot beneath Percival’s shoulder, his heart making a tiny jump when the muscle flexed under the probing digit. “Do you have any healing salves around? Something with hardhay petals?”

Percival observed him with a stern, pensive expression for a silent moment before he made a vague gesture at his study table with a tilt of his head.

“You’ll find anything you need in the case,” he said in a laconic tone, and Newt promptly walked up to the large ebony table at the other side of the room. 

Warm wings of hope fluttered in the prince’s tum as he pulled a case full of vials and other containers towards him, a shy, relieved smile pulling at the corners of his lips. The anxious part in him had anticipated Percival’s gruff refusal, but the unexpected permission coming from the brooding man ignited a feeling of elation in him, making him giddy with timid enthusiasm.

As he rummaged in the contents of the wooden case, he permitted himself the chance to let his curious gaze sweep around the room. Newt had never been allowed to step into his husband’s chambers, and now that he was here, he couldn’t help but take in the wide layout of it. To his surprise, the room was smaller than his own chambers. Newt had always expected his consort to be the pragmatic sort of man who didn’t surround himself with frivolous and meaningless things, but this room was borderline sparse, if not minimalistic.

A plain wardrobe – and a wooden chest – was standing in the corner, framed by a desk and the large study table. The wide ornate opening leading towards the balcony was rammed shut by a wooden plank that prevented the sunlight from flowing in, plunging everything in a gloomy, unsettlingly sinister atmosphere. If it weren’t for the crackling fireplace and the large king-sized bed, Newt would have feared that Percival had completely renounced anything that gave him minimal comfort. 

A mix of worry and confusion settled in his gut when he noticed the dents and ripped off parts of the headboard. It was as though a raging creature had run rampant in the room, subjecting each piece of furniture to the onslaught of its itchy claws. Suddenly, Credence’s words echoed in his head, and it was with a cold heartache that he realized that Percival’s anguish seemed to run much deeper than he thought. The nightmares seemed to drive the king into angry outbursts, making him thrash around in the desperate attempt to numb the pain.

The ardent desire to be close to Percival only increased tenfold after the realization, and it had Newt’s hand trembling around the vial, a startled gasp slipping past his lips when he heard Percival suddenly say, “You’re distressed.”

His voice was a low rumble, monotone yet smooth, calm, and Newt swirled around with widened eyes, the bottle of healing salve clutched tightly against his chest.

Before the prince could scramble for a bewildered reply, the king tossed him a side-glance over his shoulder, adding nonchalantly, “I can smell it on you.”

 _Does that surprise you?_ Newt wanted to retort with a huff, but his words got stuck in his throat when the meaning of Percival’s words sank in, making his breath hitch with a start. The prince had always had the feeling that there were more dragon traits to Percival that what was visible to the eye, but it had never occurred to him that the man had the senses of a literal bloodhound.

Newt was at a loss for words as he took in the new revelation. He wasn’t sure whether he should feel intimidated or impressed by the sheer bestial prowess that emanated from his spouse. If the pool of heat that started to swell at the pit of his belly was of any indication, then it seemed that his body had already made up its mind for him.

He couldn’t help the deep flush of mortification when Percival raised his head in a sudden inhale and stared at him with an agonizingly unreadable expression, his posture stiffening. Before the charged silence that stretched between them could get any more awkward, Newt cleared his throat and walked briskly back with the utensils in his hands, ignoring the rapid pounding of his heart.

“O—Of course I’m distressed,” Newt harrumphed in an attempt to hide the slight tremble in his voice and grabbed for another piece of cloth hanging above the fireplace, before he turned to inspect the content of the cauldron. “I’m… I don’t want to see you hurt.”

The weight of Percival’s gaze on his back was almost unbearable, and he shivered under the goosebumps sprouting on his skin. He held his breath as he dipped the cloth into the boiling herbal water, anticipating a sharp reply with a certain sense of trepidation. 

But the king remained silent. His eyes were hooded, gleaming golden in the dancing fire, and they traced Newt’s features with calm intent as the prince gently settled the steaming fabric on his injured shoulder. Newt didn’t dare to meet his gaze, his eyes skittering nervously along the slope of Percival’s neck as he dabbed the wound with soft pressure. Once he was sure that the wound was clean enough, he plucked a piece of thread and a needle he had taken from the case and gently pushed the tip against the skin, silently warning the king of what he was about to do.

Percival barely even flinched when he pierced the flesh with the ivory-needle and pulled at the thread. Newt winced inwardly at the sight of the thread sliding through reddened skin, but he willed himself to remain calm as he mended the wound with quick, nimble stitches. During the whole process, the older man was oddly docile and kept watching him through impassive yet searching eyes. 

Newt almost believed he sensed an inquisitive look in those amber depths, and he found himself suddenly stammering, “I—I learned how to stitch wounds thanks to Theseus… He always got into fights, and I was frustrated to see him coming back home in a constant bruised state.”

He blushed and pointedly kept his gaze on his task, hyper-aware of Percival’s eyes on him.

“I… I also want to go on trips in future. Travel around… So, it can only be beneficial if I know how to take care of myself.”

Newt cut himself off before his ramblings could get any further. He wasn’t sure if Percival was even interested in his words, yet he couldn’t help the little flutter in his chest when the king continued to watch him in silent attention. He didn’t utter a word, yet Newt felt like he was being fully acknowledged for the first time since the day of their marriage, and he found himself shyly meeting the man’s gaze from beneath his fringe, cheeks turning pink as he took in his husband’s handsome features.

He had never been so close to him. Newt could sense Percival’s abnormally high body heat radiating off of him, grazing his chilled skin. He could see the little crowfeet at the corners of his eyes. Surely they would stand out more if the king smiled. 

Newt couldn’t suppress the shiver coursing through his body as he tentatively let his fingers trail along a small scar near the stitched wound. He had still trouble believing that under that scarred skin laid his dragon side. Dormant. Lurking, yet thrumming with energy, ready to burst out of its confines whenever there was a risk of danger. He had seen Percival in action. He had witnessed the devastation he could leave behind in his dragon form. 

The sheer memory of it left Newt reeling until now, and he couldn’t help but splay his fingers along the strong arch of Percival’s spine between his shoulder blades, reveling in the heat seeping through his cold digits. He nearly flinched back when he realized what he was doing, fearing that he had crossed a boundary; but to his utter bewilderment, Percival didn’t budge. His stormy eyes remained fixed on him, boring through him in silent observation, as if waiting for him to make the next move. Newt felt his heart pounding erratically in his ribs, and he was certain Percival could hear it, which only resulted in him becoming even more flustered.

Suddenly, the weight of his husband’s penetrating gaze on him became unbearable, and he retracted his hand as if burned, sputtering, “It’s a—all done. It will take a while to heal, since your collarbone has gotten most of the blow. B—But you’ll be fine.”

He didn’t wait for Percival to answer and promptly proceeded to apply the salve on the surrounding bruises, inwardly willing his heartbeat to slow down. 

This was getting out of hand. He had to keep control on his longing desire before he made a fool of himself.

Before he could recuperate from the raging whirlpool of emotions in his head, a sudden knock on Percival’s door reverberated through the room and Credence slipped in, his head bowed in silent respect. His eyes widened slightly in surprise upon seeing Newt standing next to the king, but he quickly sobered up and sent Percival a furtive glance, his luscious locks falling around his eyes as he bowed his head again.

“The council is ready to get started, my king. Your advisors are assembled.”

Percival, who hadn’t moved despite the interruption, inclined his head in acknowledgement, the gleaming amber specks in his eyes disappearing behind the cold blanket of charcoal. Steely and sharp.

“Thank you, Credence,” he said coolly, and stood up.

As Percival moved towards his wardrobe and grabbed for a clean tunic, Newt meekly stepped back, his heart sinking with anxiety at the thought of Percival pushing him away again. He nearly flinched when he suddenly felt the fluffy weight of a cape made of wolfs-fur being draped over his shoulders, and he snapped his head up to stare at his husband in disbelief, his breath hitching as the older man wrapped the warm fabric around his shivering body.

“Keep it on,” Percival muttered gruffly with a disapproving frown, but his hands were gentle on Newt’s shoulders. They adjusted the cape around the prince’s neck and brushed a few stray chunks of fur away with a quick sweep of nimble fingers. 

Still feeling dazed by Percival’s unexpected care, Newt could only blush, his heart fluttering like the wings of excited birds as he felt the man’s warm, calloused hands pull the fabric tight around his exposed skin. Before he could find his voice back to say ‘thank you’, Percival had already stepped away and headed for the door with racked strides, his wide shoulders squared as though he hadn’t just endured a great injury.

“Newt.”

Newt was snapped out of the warm fuzzy feeling swelling in his chest, and he glanced at Credence who was watching him with an alarmed expression.

“Newt, are you alright? What happened?” the young man asked in a hushed voice, his hazel eyes flicking nervously towards the king’s retreating back, although Newt was certain that Percival could hear him perfectly.

Feeling touched by his friend’s concern, Newt offered a tired smile and sighed as he was pulled into a tight hug. 

“I’ll tell you later, Credence. I feared that I was going to die… But everything turned well in the end. Percival defeated them,” Newt mumbled into the soft mop of Credence’s hair, his body sagging unconsciously into the comforting warmth of the man’s embrace. “He saved me…”

He felt Credence huff against his ear, and he knew that his friend was furrowing his brows in indignant worry.

“You’re completely insane, Newt. Those bandits are dangerous.” He hugged Newt tighter and let out a sigh with a trembling breath. “Don’t do this ever again… When I saw that you weren’t in the castle, I… I—”

Newt felt his chest constrict at those words, and he bit his lip in shame. He had completely forgotten about Credence. He was struck with the mental image of his friend waiting in anguished worry, wondering if he was still alive, and he realized once again how foolish he had been to jump head-first into a battle, uncaring of his own safety and the people who cared about him.

The prince buried his face in the crook of Credence’s neck and squeezed his shoulders in apology.

“I’m sorry, Credence. It won’t happen again. I was… I was afraid something would happen to—”

“You don’t have to prove him anything, Newt. He _knows_ ,” Credence interrupted him gently and brushed a comforting hand along Newt’s back, sighing in fond exasperation. “I know you just want to help. Just please, don’t treat yourself so neglectfully. I care a lot for you.”

There was a slight hitch in Credence’s breath, as if he wanted to add something else, but then he pulled back and met Newt’s gaze with a soft smile.

“I’m so relieved you’re safe.”

“I’m glad to be back too,” Newt replied with a sheepish chuckle and shuddered in relieved contentment when Credence pulled him again into the circle of his arms. “I…”

Newt drew in a deep, stuttering breath as his friend kept rubbing his back. “I’ve never seen so much pain… So much blood.”

He didn’t even really know why he was saying it, but suddenly every memory of the violent events came rushing back, and he had to bite his lip to prevent a whimper from slipping out. Now, he understood why Theseus would sometimes pace in his study around like a caged lion, eyes glassy and face aghast, deep in his own ruminations, reliving the atrocities of past battles… What Newt had witnessed was only a mere fragment of the sheer brutality and terror a war could inflict upon people’s minds, and he didn’t dare to imagine how Percival was dealing with the trauma he had endured until now.

Credence nodded and squeezed Newt’s shoulder, eyes warm, understanding.

“Say no more. You’re still in shock. It’ll take time until you recover from the attack.” His brows furrowed, making his hazel eyes droop in an adorable way. “You’re surely exhausted. You must take some rest.”

Newt shook his head before Credence had finished his sentence.

“I know, Credence. But I want to be present at Percival’s council meeting. I’m his spouse after all.”

Credence looked at him with big eyes, mouth slightly agape.

“You don’t have to do it, Newt. You know that,” he insisted, and Newt couldn’t help but smile at the protective spark in his friend’s depths.

“I know. I _want_ to be at his side. It’s my own decision.”

The young man looked as if he wanted to object, but then he relented with a sigh and offered Newt a wry smile.

“Alright… But if you aren’t feeling well, don’t wait until the meeting is ended. I’ll be with you if you need me.”

Newt nodded gratefully, touched by his friend’s thoughtfulness.

“Will do… Thank you, Credence. For being here.”

\---

As Credence had announced, the counselors were already present when Percival marched into the council room with Newt in tow.

During a fleeting moment Newt had feared that the king would grow annoyed with his presence by now and shoo him away; but the older man just acknowledged him with a stern look before he turned around and proceeded to take his seat at the end of the table. Newt followed his example and settled down on his chair next to his spouse, a heat creeping up his neck when he felt many pairs of eyes following him.

The prince and his king were both flanked by four seats on either side of the table which were occupied by grim looking men and women, who glanced at their ruler in silent attentiveness, waiting for the meeting to begin.

As Newt discreetly let his gaze wander about the room, he recognized a few faces he had seen during the wedding ceremony and afterwards. 

After many weeks of living in Dracanoye, he had made sure to learn as much about its culture as he could, and Credence had taught him about the political junctions that governed this land, not omitting to mention the role of each minister who provided advice to their king. There were eight counselors in all, and each one of them had their own line of work and importance.

Newt recognized the powerful stance of a dark-skinned woman with shorn short blond hair who was sitting at Percival’s right. If he remembered correctly, her name was Seraphina. Commander of dragon riders and Percival’s right-hand. Her black armor had the shape of dragon scales that trailed along her body in a smooth pattern and accentuated the strong shape of her muscles without revealing the skin underneath. The calm, menacing aura that emanated from her was almost as fear inducing as Percival’s appearance, but the softness in her eyes while she met Newt’s gaze was soothing, and the prince found himself smiling shyly back when the corners of her mouth quirked up in silent greeting.

The second woman sitting next to her was the druid of the town, and Newt realized with a start that she was the priestess who had sealed the bond between him and Percival during the ceremony. She was dressed in a plain white robe with wide sleeves that almost covered her knuckles, the tip of her elegant fingers peeking out of the folds. She had black, sinuous lines tattooed on her cheeks that showed her status among the priests, and her brown full hair was threaded with onyx gems that gleamed at each little tilt of her head. Tina Goldstein.

The priestess’ eyes were sparking playfully as she sent Newt a crooked smile, and the prince felt a warm swell in his chest at the warm welcome he received. 

He didn’t recognize the two other counselors sitting next to her, but he remembered Credence saying that one of them looked after the administration of the treasury, while the other was a renowned knight and war strategist. Judging by the size of his bald head and full beard, Newt was certain that this man had wits that were difficult to compete with. If there was ever someone who was foolish enough to challenge him, that is.

Newt was ashamed to admit that he wasn’t certain anymore about the roles of the other four counselors to his left, except for one of them who was sneering at him with a cold glare, his hawkish eyes piercing through him like daggers, as though he was offended by Newt’s presence.

The man seemed to have the same age as Newt, making him the youngest of the counselors assembled in the room. His face had the handsome, fair feature of someone coming from aristocratic descent. The dark, strictly combed-back hair and high cheekbones only accentuated that appearance. He had a straight nose, a serious mouth and thin, bushy eyebrows that gave him a rebellious look, nearly diminishing the regal stance with which he held himself. His overall appearance reminded Newt of a hunting falcon, but what perturbed him the most were his heterochromatic eyes. One eye was dark brown, while the other had the color of piercing blue, staring right at him like a sharp needle. Xerxes. Percival’s spy.

Newt couldn’t help the uneasy twist in his gut as the man kept glowering at him with narrowed eyes, and he found himself subconsciously leaning against Percival’s grounding frame with a shudder.

The atmosphere was heavy and tense as everyone looked at Percival with expectance, silence stretching in the room as the king straightened his stance and acknowledged each one of his counselors with a brief flicker of amber eyes, expression hard.

The prince almost flinched back when Percival began with a sharp tone, “As you may already know, this morning the harbor town of the east coast was under attack. Bandits. Coming from the Feronn Islands.”

He paused and a low murmur went through the assembled ministers.

“ _Again_? Won’t they ever give up?” The treasurer lamented with a groan, to which Seraphina the commander arched an elegant eyebrow with a hissed-out ‘tsk’.

“I think you know as well as anyone in this room that Grindelwald is only waiting for the right moment to strike. What makes me furious is that this piece of scum couldn’t wait ‘til the end of the ceremony.”

“Speaking of wedding,” the spy chimed in, and a cold shiver ran down Newt’s spine when the man sent him a spiteful glare. “I’ve always told that this was a bad idea in the first place. Grindelwald doesn’t give a damn about an alliance between Dracanoye and Gilliya.”

The spy tipped his chin up, his droopy eyes turning into slits as his gaze traveled up and down Newt’s features with a derisive glint.

“It is a disgrace to see a mere offspring of the Southern Kingdom – who isn’t even familiar with our customs – sitting among us. Our queen would nev—”

“Jorunn is _dead_ ,” Percival barked in a booming voice that echoed off the walls, the force of his sudden outburst making Newt jump, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat.

“Don’t you dare speak on _her_ behalf,” Percival growled in a warning rumble, his eyes sparking in pulsing shades of yellow as he glared at the startled spy with a snarl. “It is Artemis’ right to be here, and if you talk in his presence, you do so with _respect_!”

He spat the last word out with bared teeth, and Newt almost believed he saw a brief flash of sharp canines. He had seen Percival in many states of anger, but _this_ was new to him. Despite the rage that sometimes seemed to drive the king’s actions, there had always been a certain conscious control to his acts. Now, he almost seemed livid with affront. His stance remained placid, but Newt could sense the wrath coiling beneath the man’s tense features, a flicker of anguished grief passing through his depths; his voice nearly cracking on the edges at the mention of his deceased wife…

Newt desperately wanted to touch his husband. To console him… But he remained frozen on his seat, a deep flush creeping up his face as he stared down at his clammy hands, hyper-aware of the counselors watching him. His heart fluttered with a strange warmth at the way Percival defended him so aggressively, yet he was unused to the attention he received from everyone, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than leave the room. The atmosphere became too oppressive, and the glare coming from the sulking spy didn’t help to diminish his flaring anxiety.

The conflicting feelings must have shown on his face, because he suddenly felt the weight of Percival’s hand on his thigh, his large palm splayed securely around his shivering limb, and Newt nearly wept in relief.

He peered up at his spouse’s stern profile through his fringe, eyes widened, but Percival was still staring daggers at the spy, who squirmed uncomfortably on his seat. The young man promptly bowed his head in reluctant submission at the low growl in Percival’s chest, yet his unsettling eyes kept watching the prince through hooded lids, gleaming sharply in unconcealed contempt.

Newt bristled under his unwavering gaze, but he forced himself to stare back with stubborn defiance, soothed by the press of Percival’s hand on his thigh. 

Everyone except for Seraphina – who was looking at the spy with an unimpressed snort – was stiffening on their seats, and they straightened up with a start when Percival said in a harsh tone, “If someone has another objection, they can speak up _now_.”

The heavy silence was almost palpable when nobody uttered a word. After another agonizingly long pause, the king finally went on, “As I previously said, the bandits came from the sea at the east coast. With one ship. They were few in number, but they had enough resources to inflict great damage upon the town. Half of the ramparts and housings have been burned down, but fortunately, there aren’t any dead victims.”

“If I may say something,” the war strategist muttered through his beard, his thick eyebrows furrowing into a straight line as he glanced at the king. “All of this seems strange to me. Why would Grindelwald send a bloody tiny ship to Dracanoye, filled with a bunch of brutes that are smart enough to know that they’d be killed once they step on our territory?”

At those words, Percival’s features hardened. His eyes glinted with flaring amber as he briefly ducked his head, jaw tensing, and straightened up again with a grim expression settling across his face.

His voice was steely and dark when he said, “Grindelwald is provoking me. It’s that simple.” Another murmur went through the assembly, but before one of the counselors could utter a word, the king added, “He is giving me a taste of what is about to come in the near future. While I was fighting against the bandits, I’ve noticed something in them that had never been witnessed since the reign of Eivör.”

Newt perked up at the uttered name, his heart skipping a beat. He didn’t have the chance to ponder on it as the commander asked in a serious tone, “What do you mean?”

“The bandits were controlled by a sinister spell. They were corpses of berserkers, long dead since millennia, brought back to life by an unnatural trait of forbidden magic,” Percival declared with a severe twist to his mouth, and the priestess suddenly let out a gasp.

“Necromancy.”

“ _What_? Impossible.” The commander sent Tina an incredulous look, her eyebrows shooting up. “All known necromancers are dead since Eivör has joined the halls of Hammarr. This magic has long gone lost!”

“Grindelwald is a sorcerer,” Tina retorted with insistence, her cunning eyes tracing each present member with intent, as if daring them to confront her. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he has gotten aid from someone who still has the knowledge of forbidden magic. Now he has control over it, and he has become stronger.”

The room went eerily silent as everyone took in the devastating information. Newt felt his heart beating in his throat as his mind was suddenly submerged with images of cackling, dead men pointing their axes at him, their hollow eyes gleaming red with bloodlust. He shivered when he felt Percival squeeze his thigh, and he subconsciously pressed himself against the man’s strong frame, inwardly thanking him for the silent comfort.

“But… didn’t you once say that magic is all about balance?” The spy seemed to have regained his confidence as he tossed at the priestess a dubious look. His raspy voice increased in volume as he added, “If Grindelwald uses forbidden magic to raise the dead, then his body should be weakened by now, since the spells eat at his soul. If you take something, you have to give something back in return that has the same value. So goes the principle.”

“I know that,” Tina huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “But there are other ways to subvert the principle if you are smart and devious enough. We just have to know by what means Grindelwald does it…”

“The crop failures…”

Sudden, deafening silence settled in the room and everyone’s eyes snapped to Newt, surprised.

Newt flinched under their inquisitive gazes and cowered back on his seat, his face flushed. He didn’t know what went through him, but as he listened to the ministers’ heated debates, a sudden thought had occurred to him, making his core thrum with overwhelming dizziness. He remembered reading about forbidden magic in one of the old parchments in the royal library of Gilliya. One text had mentioned the principle of give-and-take that governed the world, and any sort of sorcery was linked to it. Be it dark or white magic. 

When forbidden magic was involved, the spell would suck the energy of the person who casted it, but there were other methods that the sorcerer could invoke. When the spell was casted, it would either take someone’s life or destroy something that the sorcerer gave in sacrifice, like an offered animal. That is why this kind of magic was forbidden in the first place. It only left death and devastation behind. The greater the spell became, the higher the amount of lives it took.

“I—I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but…” Newt took a deep breath, inwardly forcing his racing heartbeat to calm down, and continued in a stronger tone, “But since a few years the crops and lands have become arid and meager. Each kingdom complains about the dire state they’re in.”

“I still don’t see where you’re going at, your highness,” Xerxes said while putting emphasis on the ‘your highness’, his tone dripping with derision.

Newt just looked at him coolly, eyes sharp.

“What I mean by that is that our lands have never been so sparse, as if something has swept every living plant away. Even the livestock has diminished under unexplainable circumstances. Gilliya isn’t exempt of it.”

The prince paused, his eyes skittering nervously across every person who watched him in rapt attention. Percival had his hand still on his thigh, amber eyes observing him with intent. 

Feeling emboldened, Newt added, “Maybe… it’s just an assumption— maybe it is Grindelwald’s magic that is destroying our lands. Forbidden magic steals everything that nature provides. His actions are disrupting the balance. The more living beings die, the stronger he becomes.”

The room was silent for a brief moment, and Newt nearly regretted opening his mouth when the priestess suddenly said, “That’s… That’s plausible.”

Her huge eyes were wide with wonder, staring at Newt as if seeing him for the first time, and the prince found himself blushing and ducking his head.

“So… If I understand correctly, Grindelwald may have found a way to circumvent his own death by sacrificing the lands he has targeted, taking many lives in the process,” Seraphina mused, a thoughtful expression settling over her regal features, and Newt nodded in agreement.

“Yes… um, that’s what I suppose.”

“Impossible. You need to be a very powerful sorcerer in order to make such deeds,” the counselor sitting next to the spy admonished, which had Percival scowling with a grunt.

“You’ve heard Tina and Artemis. He surely had the aid of someone who is familiar with the secrets of necromancy. And… should I remind you what he has done to _my_ kingdom?” The scars on Percival’s face twitched as his mouth turned into a thin, stern line. “I think the suffering he has inflicted upon us are enough proof.”

No one dared to say something to that. Newt sensed what his spouse left unsaid. A bitter, hurt memory of loss and pain. 

Slowly, tentatively, the prince placed his hand on Percival’s wrist. The king stiffened under his touch, and Newt was almost on the verge of pulling away, but then he felt the coil of tense muscle slowly unfurling under the gentle cradle of his fingers. The man didn’t pull away, and Newt found himself splaying his palm on Percival’s hand, his chest filling with warmth at the close proximity of his husband. 

“So, what do we do now?” the treasurer complained with a tired huff, pulling Newt out of his daze, and Percival answered with a deep frown, his shoulders tensing. 

“We do nothing for now. But I ask you to stay vigilant until we come up with a new strategy in case Feronn plans another attack. Tina.”

The priestess straightened up, eyes alert when Percival turned his attention to her.

“Send all the healers you can gather to the harbor town. There are many wounded who need help. Be quick.”

Tina nodded and promptly dashed out of the room in a flutter of robes, the heavy door falling shut behind her with a loud slam.

She was barely gone when Percival directed his next order at his spy Xerxes, whose eyes sharpened in a vivid gleam as he listened to his king’s words.

“Xerxes, I’ll ask you to travel to the Feronn Islands and gather information. I want to know what exactly Grindelwald is scheming. Don’t stay long. He has his own eyes everywhere, and I don’t want to see you caught in his claws.”

The spy inclined his head with a self-satisfied smile and rose up from his seat.

“Of course, my king,” he rasped in a susurrant tone that made something in Newt bristle in discomfort, and his slim, black-clad form strode out of the room on silent feet. As he swished past the prince, a sly, ominous glint lit up in his disconcerting eyes, and he disappeared behind the corner before Newt had the chance to hold his gaze.

Before the prince could recuperate from the apparent hostility that was directed at him, Percival announced to the rest of the group, “The harbor town needs to be rebuilt. I hope there is enough financial support for that matter,” he sent the treasurer a look, to which the man nodded his assent, lips pursed, “I want all knights, warlocks, dragon riders, soldiers and archers to be ready in case there is imminent danger. We decide our next step at the next council meeting. Until then, you’re all dismissed.”

The sound of scraping chairs filled the council room as the counselors rose from their seats and bid Percival and Newt goodbye with a curt bow of their heads. They kept murmuring to each other with vehemence as they walked past, and Newt could just hear one of them say, “Why don’t we just invade these bloody islands once and for all?”

“You’re so foolish,” Seraphina snorted with an exasperated eye roll, and the cacophony of their chatter went under with a swish as the door slammed shut behind them.

Laden, grave silence returned like the omen of an upcoming threat, and Newt found himself glancing tentatively at his consort with a cautious look.

His stomach twisted in worry when Percival kept staring at one invisible point in the room with unblinking eyes, his face blank and expressionless. His posture was stiff and rigid, which had Newt gulping uneasily as he felt the man’s hand ball into a fist under his palm.

The prince gently stroked the man’s white knuckles with shy fingers.

“Percival,” he murmured, a sigh of relief leaving his lungs in a rush when Percival blinked and turned his head, his dark eyes briefly unfocused.

There was a moment where the king studied Newt with an unreadable expression, eyes liquid, as if he wanted to say something, but then his gaze skittered away and he stared down at the table, brows furrowed, jaw clenched.

Confused, Newt leaned closer towards his husband, his lower lip quivering slightly with the need to say something, do something— brush the deep line between Percival’s brows away with a caress.

His fingers almost clenched around Percival’s hand in surprise when the man abruptly said, “You should go get some rest.”

Percival’s voice sounded drained, worryingly flat. Newt knitted his brows in concern, and he opened his mouth for a reply, but a gasp left his mouth instead when Percival suddenly pulled out of his hold and rose up from his seat, his impassive mask neatly back in place. At that, Newt felt his heart sink in a painful stutter. Oh, how he dreaded that look…

He was pulled out of his dark thoughts when Percival casted him a fleeting glance before he turned his head and stared at the wall, muttering, “You did well today.”

Newt perked up in surprise, eyes widened. A warm spark lit up in his chest and he found himself smiling timidly, his digits tingling at the unpredicted praise.

“I only want the best… For Dracanoye,” he said quietly, his eyelashes fluttering as he peered up at his consort, before he added in a timid whisper, “and for you…”

There was a fleeting moment where Newt almost believed he saw a soft, bewildered gleam passing through Percival’s bottomless depths, but then the man grunted in reply and marched out of the room with a rumbled, “ _Rest_.”

With a fluttering heart, Newt watched the man’s retreating back, and he sucked in a rattling breath, warmth seeping through his limbs as he huddled himself further into the soft fur of Percival’s cape.

Although the day had been very brutal and tumultuous at best, Newt couldn’t help but smile inwardly with content reverie, and he buried his nose into the furs, breathing in the lingering, comforting smell of his spouse.

The future was darkened with lurking danger, tendrils of dark magic creeping behind the shadows; but that didn’t stop the little glimmer of hope to sprout and grow inside his core.

\---

The following days went by in a blur, and before Newt even knew it, he was bedridden with a cold and a throbbing ache in his limbs that wouldn’t go away.

His body was wracked with constant shivers and muscle spasms, and his head felt as though someone had rammed a hammer through it. He groaned miserably as he woke up one morning with a sore throat and a coughing fit that sent stabbing pain through his ribs, making him wheeze. He blinked blearily at the ceiling and cursed himself for the umpteenth time for his bad luck and recklessness. What also didn’t help his tormented mood was the fact that since that faithful day in the harbor town he was plagued by restless dreams filled with faceless shadows that gripped at his flailing limbs and leered at him through gleaming red eyes, their bone-chilling laughter making him startle awake with a broken whimper.

The prince flinched upwards when a soft knock thrummed at the door, followed by a scraping of wood as it was pushed open and Credence’s head peeked through the gap. The young man’s hazel eyes softened as he laid his gaze upon the coughing prince, and he walked towards him with a sympathetic smile.

“Good morning, Newt. How are you feeling today?” he asked, to which Newt rubbed his eyes with a plaintive sigh and flopped back into the furs, feeling too weak to hold his upper-body up on his elbows. 

“Not better. My body hurts everywhere. I guess I deserved this,” he muttered with a theatrical huff, and Credence chuckled good-naturedly.

“You’ve been through quite a lot. Your mind and body are still recuperating from the past events.” 

The young man settled gingerly on the edge of Newt’s bed, and it was only then that the prince noticed the large silver tray in his hands. A cup of steaming hot herbal tea had been placed on the plate, surrounded by an assortment of fresh, doughy bread, a pot of sweet honey, a bowl of soup and a transparent vial that contained a viscous liquid Newt didn’t recognize.

The prince couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure as he breathed in the subtle, calming smell of chamomile and thyme. With shaking limbs, he leaned his back against the headboard and hummed gratefully when Credence settled the steaming cup into the cradle of his hands.

“You’re so kind to me, Credence,” Newt breathed, taking a careful sip from the tea, and Credence shook his head with a sheepish smile.

“Don’t talk too much. I don’t want you to strain your voice.”

Newt blinked in surprise when the man pulled the pelt that covered his legs aside and propped his cold feet on his thighs. The prince couldn’t suppress a shudder when Credence poured the syrupy liquid into his palms and started to massage the aching joints of his ankles, soft fingers rubbing soothingly across chilled skin.

Newt sagged against the headboard with an embarrassing moan when Credence’s nimble fingers pressed the warm oil along the arch of his foot, a heat creeping up his cheeks as the young man chuckled playfully.

“It’s grapple plant- and rosemary oil. It helps against the pain,” Credence explained, and Newt nodded feebly, unable to produce a coherent word as he was transformed into a literal puddle.

He closed his eyes, letting the calming sensation wash over him, and he almost dropped his cup when Credence spoke up after a brief pause of companionable silence, “Are you, um… Is everything going fine? I mean… between you and his majesty.”

Newt glanced up at his friend, a warm feeling sprouting in his chest at the thought of Credence being so concerned about him. He smiled reassuringly when their eyes met, unable to hold back a soft chuckle as Credence ducked his head with a blush.

“I still have hope,” he whispered quietly, a cough making his breath hitch. “He has started to acknowledge me… I guess that is a start.”

Credence’s eyes softened at the forlorn look in Newt’s jade eyes, and he gave his ankle a gentle squeeze.

“Deep down, he cares about you, Newt.” A brief flash of sadness passed through his hazel depths before he added, “The memories of the tortures he has endured have resurfaced since the harbor town has been attacked… But you don’t need to fret. He’ll get over it, someday.”

Newt sighed, a lump forming in his throat as his mind was invaded with images of his king, his dragon form roaring and thrashing in enraged pain, wailing at his irreversible loss...

“I hope so, Credence. I hope so…”

He didn’t know why he was suddenly hit by creeping melancholy, but the sorrow he had felt in Percival’s soul still had him reeling. Newt blamed his ill and exhausted state for being so sensitive…

Seemingly sensing his conflicting emotions, Credence rubbed the delicate skin of Newt’s feet and said with sudden beaming smile, “Speaking of something else… Did you know that we’ll be celebrating the dragon feast next week?”

Newt perked up at that, brows furrowing.

“I—I’ve heard about it. Isn’t it the annual celebration in memory of those dragons that have fought alongside the people of Dracanoye during past battles?”

Credence nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes. But we also celebrate the bond we share with them. It’s a friendship we cherish very much.” He grinned at Newt, his eyes sparkling in a beautiful glint in the morning light. “You should come feast with us. There will be a lot of music, and the people of Rasgard will be more than pleased to see you.”

“Are you sure of that? I’m not from the Northern Kingdom after all,” Newt said hesitantly and bit his lip as he thought about a certain sharp-tongued spy. Even if he was aware that most of Dracanoye’s population had approved to his marriage with Percival, he gradually started to realize that not everyone was happy to see him standing next to the Black Dragon in place of their beloved queen. He was seen as an imposter, and he wasn’t sure how he should feel about this tricky situation he had put himself in.

“Are you joking? They’ll be thrilled to see you!” Credence stared at Newt with eyes wide as saucers, as though he had just told a great offence. “Everyone talks about the prince who has come to save the harbor town. The news of your courage has spread around like wildfire!”

Newt could only gape at those words, rendered speechless. His heart made a leap as he digested the information, feeling lost yet pleasantly bewildered at once.

“I—If you say so,” he mumbled finally after a brief pause, still somewhat dazed. 

He didn’t know what was awaiting him, but at least he was certain that Credence would be at his side during the whole celebration. And he had to admit that he was curious about the prospect of participating in Dracanoye’s cultural events. It could only be beneficial if he learned more about this land of mystery and magical beasts.

Newt chewed on his lower lip as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Would we have to dance too…? I have to remind you that I have two left feet, and I imagine Dracanoye’s people have their own type of dance,” he mused in a reluctant tone, which caused Credence to laugh, his eyes gleaming with mirth.

“Don’t worry, Newt. The dance is quite simple. We’ll just run around the great fire like a bunch of mad chicken,” he said with a snicker, making Newt giggle at the mental image.

“Alright… I can’t wait to get better,” the prince sighed, his eyelids already becoming heavy as he felt the exhaustion creep back into his limbs. 

He heard another soft chuckle from Credence, and he hummed lazily in thanks when his friend pushed his feet back under the warm cocoon of the furs with a gentle pat, whispering, “I’ll let you sleep. I see you later, Newt.”

Newt just managed to give a weak nod before he sunk back into the cushions, a pleasant shudder coursing through him as he stretched his legs. His muddled mind barely registered the sound of Credence gingerly settling the tray on the bedside table, and before he knew it, he was pulled into a profound sleep.

\---

_“Stop struggling, little prince…”_

Newt felt the press of a sharp blade against his throat, making his stomach lurch in earth-shattering terror. He trembled like a leaf the moment he saw the ominous glint of red eyes floating in the darkness, approaching him. Pinning him down.

_No… Not again..._

The prince felt his chest heave in painful spasms, his heart pounding in his ears. The eyes came nearer. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t—

“Stop!!”

Newt jerked awake with a choked scream, his eyes skittering frantically around the dark corners of his room as he gasped for air. His whole body was drenched in cold sweat and his heart was beating frantically against his ribs, dreading to jump out. He let out a shaky sob as he forced himself to take a steadying breath, and pulled the pelts around his shivering body in a feeble attempt to regain a semblance of warmth.

A sensation of lingering dread made Newt cower further into the furs, and he couldn’t help the plaintive whimper as he let his gaze shift along the walls of his chambers, one part of him still fearing that those red eyes would reappear in the shadows, imprison him in their threatening glow. 

The room felt eerily quiet and oppressive. 

Newt could hear the wheeze of his uncoordinated breath, the rush of blood in his ears. It was as though the walls around him were moving. Enclosing his body until his bones were cracking in splinters.

With a shudder, the prince let out another stuttering breath and pulled the furs further up his chin, his vision turning blurry with unshed tears. It was just a mere nightmare. Nothing more. Yet, Newt couldn’t ignore the nagging twist of unease and trepidation in his gut as the images of the assault he had endured kept rushing before his inner eye. He felt sick to his stomach and the lump in his throat nearly made him choke.

Never did he feel so lonely until now. 

He wished to be back in Gilliya with Theseus. Coming to the Northern Kingdom meant only deception and pain. Newt didn’t know if he was ever going to be part of Dracanoye. In the end, his role was pointless and meaningless. He would always stay the second consort of a grieving king who wasn’t capable anymore of love and affection. Newt’s destiny was laughable, and he would have chuckled at his grotesque fate if he wasn’t already wallowing in self-pity.

A whimper slipped past his lips when a throbbing ache coursed through his joints, his sore throat prickling under an upcoming cough. He had to remind himself to ask Credence for another cup of tea. At least there was one person who cared about him…

Newt shivered and buried his face further into the pelt, his knees pulled up to his chest in an attempt to shield himself from the cold. He wrapped his arms around himself and clenched his eyes shut, a hiccup escaping his mouth as he choked on a sob. 

He didn’t hear the creaking sound of a door opening, and he almost jumped out of his skin when the mattress suddenly dipped behind his back under a heavy weight. His eyes flew open with a start and his whole frame went rigid as he listened to a rustling of fabric, the unknown weight shifting close to him ever so slowly.

The prince sucked in a startled breath when he was abruptly pulled into the cradle of strong arms and his back made contact with the solid press of a wide chest, making his breath hitch. His heart jolted up his throat in an overwhelmingly dizzying flutter when he felt a hot breath graze the nape of his neck and a low rumble muttering against his ear.

“ _Sleep_.”

Newt couldn’t help the full-body shiver that wracked through him, his mind reeling in shocked bewilderment. He stifled a trembling sigh as the arms flexed around him and tugged him further into the heat of their embrace. He sagged against the press of the firm body behind him with a sob, the pent up tension trickling out of his aching limbs in a rush, making him pliant.

“Percival…?” he whispered softly, unable to hold back a sniffle, and his heart thudded in his chest when the man responded with a hum, the sound of his gravelly voice reverberating against Newt’s shuddering back.

“Sleep,” Percival repeated, and Newt found himself nearly crying in relief.

His mind was a literal turmoil of jumbling thoughts and emotions. He didn’t know why Percival was here— why he was suddenly curled up against the sturdy warmth of his husband’s chest. But he felt soft, comforted and cherished… even if it was only temporary. Surely the king was just trying to appease his unrest, but Newt wanted to pretend that there was more to Percival’s acts; that the man truly cared for him. Just for this night...

Newt didn’t realize that tears were running down his flushed cheeks, and he gasped when Percival made a low, clacking sound deep in his chest, its vibrations drumming rhythmically against the prince’s back. It sounded like a mix of a feline’s purr and smooth stones clicking together, and Newt found himself once again amazed by the dragon traits that transpired through Percival’s behavior.

His sobs slowly ceased with a last sniffle as he was lulled into the soothing murmur of Percival’s purr, and he held onto his spouse’s arm, partly afraid that he’d disappear once he fell back to sleep. 

For the first time in weeks, Newt felt warm and content, and he didn’t struggle when his weakened body pulled him into a dreamless slumber.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was alright. It's my first time writing fight scenes in english, and I'm still a bit uncertain about it. :')
> 
> What do you think? Is it alright if I write more chapters? Feedback is appreciated. Thank you so much for reading. <3  
> You can find me as always, on [Tumblr](https://sassy-percy-graves.tumblr.com/).


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